


The World's Not Waiting (For Joe Trohman to Stop Being a Pussy and Start Going For What He Wants)

by rosiedoesfic



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: AU Timeline, Angst, Chaptered, Implied/Referenced Underage Relationship(s), M/M, Patroh, Pre-hiatus, TWNW, Van Days
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2018-07-22 18:13:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 139,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7449241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosiedoesfic/pseuds/rosiedoesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe saw him first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Paperbacks and Sexuality

**Author's Note:**

> I began writing this story in early 2007. On 17 May 2009, chapter 17 was posted on my fanfiction LJ, [Damage Report](http://damagereport.livejournal.com/tag/twnw).
> 
> Seven years later, chapter 18 was completed and the story migrated to AO3, with minor edits to remove mistakes. This fact is owed entirely to Lewis and Soren, who looked me up on Twitter to ask about the story. Due to their encouragement and enthusiasm, I rediscovered my love of a band who had meant the world to me, and found the motivation to work on a story I'd always felt guilty for leaving incomplete.
> 
>  _ **Never say never**_.
> 
> Over the years, there have been very many betas who have committed time to this work. All of them can be found listed at the start of each chapter on Damage Report.
> 
> * * *
> 
> **This fic is written in a slightly AU timeline, where Andy joins the band straight away. Some key events have been adjusted to account for this. One or two formerly key players may also be conspicuous by their absence.**
> 
>  
> 
> I know nothing about Neurosis. Any discussion of the band in this chapter is entirely invented.

**The World's Not Waiting (For Joe Trohman to Stop Being a Pussy and Start Going For What He Wants)**  
_Part One: Paperbacks and Sexuality_  
  
_"Coasting on potential towards a wall..."_  
  
  
  
Joe told himself he wasn't eavesdropping as he drummed his fingers on the back of the remote and slouched lower on the over-soft blue couch; it was just that he couldn't help hearing.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, Pete, of course... Yeah. Y'know, Pete, when you get – yes, I know – but when you get here we need to... Oh, don't – no. It's a half hour drive, dude! You know that – you _lived_ here!"  
  
He could even hear an electronic murmur of Pete's voice buzzing back down the line, despite Patrick's conversation taking place in the kitchen.  
  
"You'll be fine. We'll see you when you get here. Yes. Um... Actually, Pete, he's here now. Yeah, I know it's eight thirty in the morning – Pete – ! Okay. Okay, fine. Good. Yeah, okay. Yeah, you too. See you soon."  
  
He heard the cell phone snap shut and Patrick's impatient huff as he walked back into the room and dropped himself down beside Joe on the chair. He raised his eyebrows questioningly when Patrick rubbed a hand over his face. He didn't need to ask aloud.  
  
"No, I didn't 'tell him', but he's having one of his fucking Petetrums over having had to fly. _Over having to fly from his own fucking house_. I love the guy to death, Joe, I do, but sometimes I just want to take his Fender and just – " he clasped his hands together and extended his arms abruptly, as if swinging a baseball bat. "If he misses home and he misses me and he misses his mommy and he misses Chicago but he hates fucking flying, he shouldn't have moved to LA."  
  
Joe just shrugged and leaned in to kiss him on the jaw in a way that would have been seductive if he hadn't hit his ear instead, "I'm kinda glad he moved and left you to me, actually. If he was here all the time we'd just... It's difficult enough on tour, man, but he'd be breathing down your neck, like 24/7. This way we get like, a half-hour warning at least."  
  
Patrick gave a smirk, digging between the couch cushions for the remote and tossing it aside to shift nearer.  
  
"You want to race a taxi?"  
  
\---  
  
**Early 2001.**  
  
Okay. This was bad. This was like, cataclysmic, asteroid-from-space-the-size-of-Texas, extinction-level event bad. 'Oh my God, that's it, I'm just going to lay down here and wait to die' bad. Very, very, very totally fucking bad.  
  
"Um," Borders Boy squeaked a little as he handed back the paperback Joe had just fumbled and dropped in horror the moment he saw him. "You... dropped this. I think."  
  
Joe could feel every blood cell in his body having a party in his face and he really wasn't sure he'd been this humiliated since he was twelve and his mother had come into his class – _his fucking class!_ – to collect him and take him to the hospital and announced "Joseph's going to the peepee doctor today". Borders Boy – Ricky, apparently, if the badge was right – wasn't supposed to work Tuesday afternoons. That was why he came today, because he knew he wouldn't be there. He'd been coming in every couple of days for four months, now, since he'd first caught sight of him over a stack of tab books, re-stocking the travel section twenty feet away. He was a skinny little thing, with a smile too wide for his face and a scar through one eyebrow, and fine, strawberry-blond hair that looked almost sun bleached. He was odd-looking, but Joe had seen him look up and smile at a colleague who made some inaudible joke as he walked by, and that was it. Joe and his deviant teenage hormones hadn't stood a chance.  
  
He'd never dared to get much nearer than those first twenty feet and he sure as hell wasn't going anywhere near a cash register if he was on it. He turned into a jibbering wreck standing ten feet away, he wasn't going to ruin any tiny glimmer of a chance he had by making himself look like a moron because he wasn't ready to talk.  
  
But now – oh, now! – now, he'd ruined everything.  
  
_Growing Up Gay: From Left Out to Coming Out_  
  
Like _that_ needed any clarification. Fucking Tuesdays and shift-switching and fucking fumbling hands. And basically fuckfuckfuckfuck _fuck everything_.  
  
He would have run away if he wasn't frozen to the spot.  
  
"Excuse me? I said I think you, um..." Borders Boy – _Ricky_ , he reminded himself – jabbed the book at him, his own cheeks turning a soft shade of pink that made Joe want to whimper dopily. He managed to stifle it long enough to reach out and take the book back, mumbling 'thanks' and immediately turned to flee, planning to drop it on any shelf he passed and write the entire episode off as a bad idea.  
  
"Hey," Ricky called after him, softly and giving him an awkwardly supportive smile when he turned back to look at him, "good luck."  
  
It made Joe's stomach hurt. He didn't go back for three months.  
  
\---  
  
"No, how can you say that, dude? Kendall's visuals were _early-nineties technology_. Everything's changed since then – things people can do with them have like, gotten infinitely better since then, Pete Inc had just totally way more to work with – "  
  
"Whatever," Luke muttered, thumbing through yet another '100% Unofficial' Kurt Cobain biography. "It still sucks."  
  
"The dude is a fucking _genius_."  
  
"I don't know I'd go that far," a voice from behind him declared, "talented, definitely, but 'genius' is being kind of free with the boundaries of definition."  
  
Joe turned around to call whichever jackass was arguing with him way, way out on it, and stopped, mouth open, when he was met with the very person he'd been trying to avoid for months. He'd been sure he would have quit by now. If he'd known he was still around he wouldn't have agreed to come in.  
  
"Uh. Hi."  
  
Ricky smiled a little and looked at him like he couldn't figure him out. "Yeah, hi. So I was saying – you can't call Kendall a genius because you can't exactly compare his work to Inc's because they're different eras, technologically."  
  
"Actually, that's what I was telling _him_ ," Joe replied, indignation superseding embarrassment for a few, blissful moments, "but Kendall was totally an underappreciated genius because, like, nobody thinks about the way technology developed."  
  
"Totally," Ricky nodded enthusiastically, before amending, "except for the genius thing."  
  
The next thing Joe knew, the store was closing, Luke was long gone and Ricky ("It's Patrick, actually, but the guy who made the tags said it was a loser name, and I get called this at school so...") was writing his number in the back of Joe's biology notebook. Joe couldn't even fully remember how they'd reached this point, but he was nodding and saying, "Sure, totally, I'll tell Pete and then give you a call or whatever..." and then he was walking home, feeling weirdly light-headed and full of boundless energy.  
  
But he still had nobody to tell.  
  
\---  
  
"Hey, Number One Fan," Andy greeted him cheerfully, hauling his bass drum out of the van as Joe walked over. They exchanged their not-very-secret handshake and Joe stooped to pick up the toms to help carry them into the venue without needing to be asked; this was a pretty regular occurrence. It was only a local venue – they played there for fun and the familiar crowd rather than cash and somehow one of Andy's infinite list of bands always seemed to make it onto the bill. Joe couldn't even remember who was playing, tonight.  
  
"So, how's it going, little bro?" Andy asked him, sliding his case onto the stage and barely waiting long enough for Joe to put his own down before he was off for another load. "I haven't seen you in what? Four days, now? I think that has to be some kind of record for the year so far... Been busy?"  
  
"Um." _I've been hanging out with this kind of funny-looking kid I met in a bookstore and he's basically, like, the coolest fucking dude on the face of the planet and also smart, like you, and my face kind of hurts from smiling for, like, five straight hours on Tuesday because he came to my house and he can actually fucking synch the whole Back to the Future trilogy – with voices_ and _sound effects – and I'm gonna get Pete to try him out for the new band thing we told you about because he's a drummer and those are like, fucking impossible to find anyway and he's basically fucking amazing and I think I want to bear his children._ "No, not 'specially."  
  
"No? Wentz said you'd met some kid."  
  
"Oh. Um, I guess." He was quite sure he was red as a neatly polished apple and a tiny part of him wanted to die.  
  
Andy gave him a weird look and then hid a smirk behind hid hair, "You want to tell me about him?"  
  
Joe balked, "Why?!"  
  
"Well, aren't you going to bring him along?" Andy asked, leaning back against the stage door to hold it open while Joe shuffled in with an amp hefted against his thigh.  
  
The thought hadn't even occurred to Joe. And given how many questions Patrick (he liked that better than Ricky) had asked about the show he was going to, he really had plenty of opportunity to do so. In fact, in retrospect, he was pretty sure Patrick had been hinting. He felt like such a loser.  
  
It must have shown on his face, because Andy sighed heavily, put down his snare and took out his cell (an anarchist with a cell phone; Joe was sure there was some irony in that) and pushed in at him. "Tell him he comes or he doesn't get the try-out for Blink one-eightywannabes."  
  
Joe blinked at the phone and watched Andy drag in his kit, shaking his head slightly. He wasn't sure why Andy was so bothered, but he pulled his wallet out of his pocket and fumbled through it for the scrap of paper bearing Patrick's number. The third time he dialled, he didn't hang up before it rang.  
  
  
\---  
  
Andy insisted on dropping him home after the show – via the drive thru for Tommy and Nick – and by the time they pulled up outside Joe's parents' house they were the only two left. The night had been pretty awesome. Patrick had showed, two songs into the second band and some time after Joe had given up hope of him hearing the voicemail he'd left (or caring much if he did receive it), and tugged at his sleeve with a dorky half-smile and a barely-audible, "Hey." It had pretty much made Joe's week.  
  
"Thanks for the ride, man," Joe said, unfastening the seatbelt and picking up his bag from the floor; he'd gone to the venue straight from detention for forgetting his homework again.  
  
"No worries," Andy grinned, patting his head in a brotherly fashion, "have to make sure you get home safe and sound." He paused for a minute and then turned off the ignition before starting again, "Joe?"  
  
Joe blinked at him. "Yuh?"  
  
"That, um. Patrick – he seems like a decent kid."  
  
"Oh. Heh." He told himself he wasn't blushing, and even if he was, the lamps on the sidewalk wouldn't show it. "Yeah. He's pretty... Um. Pretty cool."  
  
"Yeah," Andy agreed, nodding slowly. "Pretty cool. I think you have quite a lot... _in common_."  
  
"Oh, we do! Like, seriously a whole lot of bands and he really likes – "  
  
"No. Joe, that's not what I meant."  
  
Joe stared at him as Andy took a deep breath and turned in the driver's seat to face him more easily.  
  
"Joey, I don't want to make you feel weird or anything, but you're like the kid brother I never had and I just wanted you to know that if there's anything you, y'know... feel like you need to tell someone, I'll be cool with it. Even if it seems pretty big."  
  
For a few moments, Joe couldn't breathe. He wasn't sure what was going on, and regardless of what Andy had said, it did feel weird because he was pretty sure that guys didn't talk about stuff even with self-appointed surrogate siblings. He suddenly wished he'd bought that goddamn book and had some idea what was going on or how to say what he really kind of wanted to, but he hadn't and he just didn't. So he just mumbled, "Er. OkaysurebyeAndy," and reached for the door.  
  
" _Joe_..."  
  
Joe hesitated and fixed his gaze on his backpack, frowning as he realised he'd lost a Sabbath pin. "What?"  
  
"I think I know. And it's okay."  
  
"Kn-know what, dude?" Joe asked, stammering as he stalled, starting to feel both a little sick and indescribably relieved at the same time. The badges he'd had on his bag for months suddenly reached a whole new level of interesting.  
  
Andy sighed and bumped his shoulder lightly with the soft side of his fist. "Okay, I really kind of hope I'm not wrong and don't be mad at me if I am, but I just got the idea that maybe our little Number One Fan has a crush and that maybe that's been going on for a couple of months, because a certain person mentioned he worked in that bookstore you practically lived in last semester... And that maybe there's stuff going on now that makes it a whole lot more real than it has been and that the whole deal is probably kind of weird, right now. But if I'm right: it's cool. Seriously."  
  
Joe took several deep breaths and didn't say anything – too busy wondering how obvious he was. Fucking lisp. He wasn't sure what to say, or how to say it or anything else, so he just glanced at the living room window, irrationally afraid that his parents would have the conversation bugged and know what question he was answering as he jerkily nodded his head.  
  
Andy was watched him silently for a few moments and then very quietly asked, "I'm right?"  
  
"...Yeah. I guess."  
  
Andy patted him supportively on the shoulder. "Hey, that's _cool_. Am I the first person you told?"  
  
"You're the first person who _made me_."  
  
"But it feels better, right?"  
  
Joe had to concede that yes, actually, the world had not fallen in and he could not hear the screams of God murdering small fluffy kittens, but there was definitely a weight fading from his chest for the first time since he'd been introduced to the Red Hot Chili Peppers' 'alternative uses for a gym sock' picture in a Classic Images of Rock issue of one music publication or other and spent most of the night dreaming of Anthony Kiedis climbing out of his underwear drawer.  
  
Andy grinned at him when he looked back across and nodded. "I'm proud of you, dude."  
  
"It's not like I was going to tell you."  
  
"No, but you're growing up. You weren't even fifteen when I met you and back then you looked like a bushbaby in skate shorts; now, you're growing up and doing your shit and people know you because you're a nice guy with a lot of talent and not a weird little nerd with crazy hair. Pete and I cultivated a prodigy. It's pretty cool."  
  
Joe grinned and clambered out of the van. Pete and Andy were the nicest, coolest dudes he knew. Maybe if they were okay with it, it wasn't so bad.  
  
\----  
  
"I wish you'd, like, told me – I feel like I suck for not even getting you a card or something," Joe complained, chewing the end of his straw as they idled the afternoon away sitting on the wall outside the local 7Eleven.  
  
"You can get me something next year," Patrick shrugged, offering him some Cheetos and sucking noisily on his slurpee.  
  
Joe tried not to be excited that Patrick thought they would still be friends next year. Why wouldn't they?  
  
"I could, like, shout you a movie or something," he offered, trying to sound extra casual and jabbing his straw into his cup so it made an irritating squeaking sound.  
  
"There's nothing out worth watching." Patrick scrunched his nose up and shrugged, "But if something's released that I wanna see, I'll let you know. Probably about the time the first teaser trailer comes out. And then I'll bug you about it every day until you hate the movie on principle and won't see it anyway..."  
  
Laughing, Joe prayed he didn't blush as he assured him he wouldn't mind; because Patrick bothering him meant Patrick talking to him. A lot. And that could only be a good thing.  
  
Patrick smiled and dropped his chin. "I'll hold you to that."  
  
"You can hold me to whatever you want if you join the band, dude."  
  
"You get Pete from Racetraitor to let me in his band and I'll hold whatever you want me to hold to you!"  
  
Joe didn't have an option about whether to blush, by this point, even though Patrick was laughing and crunching a handful of Cheetos. He wondered if Pete took bribes.  
  
\---  
  
"I don't get why you're so desperate to get this kid in the band. We can have Andy if we just buy him a fucking veggieburger and ask nice."  
  
"Andy's in, like, every band on the scene, practically... and it's not his thing." _And Patrick's awesome and not like a brother to me and I kind of want to get in his pants more than I want to grow a twelve-inch dick and believable facial hair over night, only in a kind of less sleazy way than that sounds._ "I just want you to give him a chance, dude. Fresh blood for the scene and stuff..."  
  
"I'm not making any promises or whatever, man."  
  
"Just, like, keep an open mind, okay?"  
  
Pete was already rolling his eyes and knocking on the front door.  
  
His first reaction, as his eyes fell on the harassed-looking teenager in thick-rimmed glasses and an argyle sweater Joe swore he had never seen before, was to burst into snickers and almost fall backward off the top step.  
  
"This is a joke, right?" he asked Joe, gesturing wildly at the boy in front of him. The boy whose face was violently red and whose sleeves were suddenly tugged over his fists. "You have seriously got to be kidding me."  
  
It took a moment, but Patrick finally raised his eyebrows and asked Joe, over Pete's shoulder, "Is this _actually_ the 'legendary' Pete Wentz From Racetraitor, or did you bring some Smurf you picked up on the way?"  
  
Joe would have liked the whole world to fall in on itself. A lot. But then Pete was gripping Patrick's shoulders, turning him around and instructing him to take him to the kit. And he was laughing. And somehow, Joe was still on the doorstep.  
  
It should really have been a sign.  
  
\---  
  
In an ideal world, Pete's enthusiastic acceptance of Patrick into their little band (and not even as a drummer – but as a singer! And who saw that coming? The little redheaded kid with the bright, goofy smile and apparently even less fashion sense than Joe himself, had the best voice either of them had heard in years) should have been the coolest thing to happen to him since he first shook hands with Little Joe. But when Joe failed to hear from either of them for the next five days, and then only an email from Pete on a mailout promoting some live night at a new venue, he started to feel a little short changed.  
  
He could have called. Obviously. Only, Pete had said he'd call him to arrange practice as soon as he'd spoken to Andy, and Patrick had been at work on the one occasion Joe had tried his home number. He hadn't called back. Joe called again three days later.  
  
"Friday? I... I can't. I'm hanging out at Pete's. I promised. No... I'm staying over, I think. I'm working in the afternoon.... Mom says I have to stay home Sunday and do chores. Monday I have work and Tuesday I have to stay late at school... and then I said I'd see some film Pete wants to show me... I'm really sorry, dude - I'll call you Wednesday."  
  
Wednesday, Pete took Patrick to a show they forgot to mention to Joe and he only knew that because he was covering the door for Josh for ten minutes when they walked in.  
  
He tried not to feel hurt. At least Patrick made a point of coming over and talking to him after Josh got back. They actually spent quite a lot of the night hanging out together while Pete played the social butterfly, and Joe was just beginning to feel better about things when he returned and reclaimed his new toy in order to show him off to some of the Arma guys. Joe went home.  
  
\---  
  
"I seriously can't believe you abandoned me, dude," Patrick's voice complained through the telephone receiver in Joe's parents' hall. "I was standing there with, y'know – some of the coolest guys on the radar smirking at me, and Pete's all, 'Yeah, this is Patrick: he's going to make us famous' and I'm just _shitting myself_ and I can't even speak, let alone make any sense and you went and _left me there_!"  
  
Joe wasn't sure whether to be pleased or annoyed. "Well, you got there by yourself... Well. I mean, like, Pete got you there."  
  
"Pete said _you'd_ be there!"  
  
"You'd have gone anyway, though, right? I mean... you've spent enough time with him anyway..."  
  
For a few miserable-sounding moments, there was silence on the line, and then Patrick's voice, sounding excessively breezy and light, asked, "You want to hang out, tomorrow? If you're not doing anything, I mean."  
  
Now, he was sure, Patrick was just doing this to prove some kind of point. "Tomorrow? Actually, I'm – " _don't say it, don't say it, dude!_ " – I'm... Ah, screw it: sure. If you can tear yourself away from OHMYGODPETEFROMRACETRAITOR! for, like, ten minutes."  
  
"Asshole. I'm not a fangirl!"  
  
"Nah, you're his bitch."  
  
Patrick gave an outraged gasp and started laughing. "So not."  
  
"Whatever. Are you coming to my place, or...?"  
  
"I finish work at seven, so, um... do you want to come and meet me there and get some dinner, or something... maybe...?"  
  
Joe swallowed. He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again, fisting his fingers in his curls. "Um. I guess..."  
  
"We don't have to." Patrick's voice was suddenly defensive, like he thought Joe didn't want to go when he did, he really, really did.  
  
"No – no. Dinner's like, awesome. Seriously."  
  
"Okay, cool. Then I guess I'll see you tomorrow..."  
  
"Definitely."  
  
"Cool."  
  
"Cool."  
  
"Um, so... okay, I'm going to go. Catch you tomorrow..."  
  
"Tomorrow. Cool."  
  
"Cool. Bye."  
  
"Bye."  
  
Joe was quite sure by the time he dropped the receiver into its cradle and pounded up the stairs to his bedroom, swan-diving across his bed and straight into the wall beyond, that things, for now at least, were definitely _cool_.  
  



	2. My Heart Is On My Sleeve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe saw him first.

**The World's Not Waiting (For Joe Trohman to Stop Being a Pussy and Start Going For What He Wants)**  
 _Part Two: My Heart is on My Sleeve  
  
"Breaking hearts has never looked so cool..."_  
  
  
  
"Wow," Patrick grinned, still sounding a little breathless as he propped himself up on one elbow and tried to find his hat, "I didn't realise the taxi was supposed to be going warp speed."  
  
Joe tried to kick his leg and flip him off at the same time and almost fell over as he did up his jeans, tripping onto the coffee table and successfully knocking a stack of CDs to the floor. "I wouldn't put it past Pete to call from the hall and say he was an hour away and then, just, like prance in and scare the crap out of everybody..."  
  
"He only did that once."  
  
"Yeah, well, there's a first time for everything... And a first time normally needs a couple more to make it a 'first', so..."  
  
"You're so still bitter about this, aren't you?" Patrick chuckled, climbing off the couch and untucking the side of Joe's faded Slayer shirt from his jeans, before leaning against him and playfully rubbing his nose against his shoulder.  
  
"Bitter? Why would I be bitter? It's only been, like, six years and he only _moved to the other side of the country_ but somehow, I'm still getting cock-blocked by HOLYSHITPETEFROMFUCKINGRACETRAITOR. This bullshit should not happen to a rockstar, dude."  
  
Patrick gave a mock-sympathetic sigh and patted his ass consolingly, "Racetraitor broke up years ago. Now you're just getting cock-blocked by 'an elf in a sparkly jacket'."  
  
Joe knew there was a reason he hated Lord of the Rings.  
  
\---  
  
 **2001.**  
  
"I thought of a film!" Patrick announced gleefully as he jabbed Joe in the ribs and made him move from where he was contentedly leaning against the store window and reading that week's Spin.  
  
"Ow. Dude. Just _ow_." He rubbed his side and stuffed the magazine into his backpack. "What is it?"   
  
"Fellowship of the Ring. It's not out until, y'know, Christmas or whatever, but you can take me to see that."  
  
"Oh." _Score! Three hours of make-out time, plus elves, magic and killing stuff_. "If you like...want."   
  
"Of course I want. It's _Tolkien_."  
  
"Well, okay. Can we eat first?"  
  
Joe had never been to Johnny Rocket's. He wasn't sure any of his friends had, really, because a 50s-themed diner wasn't exactly the way forward when most of the guys were edge and regarded dead animal as a class-A substance, but it was cool with him. He'd skipped lunch at school because he felt kind of sick with nerves, but he seriously regretted it now.   
  
They wound up in an inconspicuous booth along one side, with its own jukebox which was, as they sat down, cheerily blasting 'My Guy' around the restaurant. Joe tried not to acknowledge this in any way, but he couldn't suppress a small cringe. He made a point of thinking of Whoopee Goldberg in a habit, which also provided a convenient excuse when Patrick gave an uncertain smile and asked what was wrong.  
  
They had been there the better part of an hour when Patrick looked at him with his head tilted to the side, chewing on his fries pensively, and asked, "Can I ask you something?"  
  
"Um. Sure..."  
  
"It's..." Patrick paused and gazed instead into his peanut butter milkshake, "well, it's kind of personal, dude."  
  
Joe froze for a second, not sure whether to change the subject or brave the imminent doom. "Um..."  
  
Patrick didn't seem to care whether Joe was prepared to continue or not, and simply carried on regardless. "Y'know the first time I spoke to you?"  
  
"...uh..."  
  
"Like, not the first time recently – I mean, the real first time, when. Y'know. When you had the book and – "  
  
"Yeah, dude," Joe cut in quickly, sure that he was going to blurt out unnecessary details at precisely the moment somebody like, oh, one of the popular kids from school, walked in and shame him for all eternity, "yeah, I remember when. What about it?"  
  
"Well..." Patrick swirled his straw in the glass and didn't look at him, "I just wanted to know how you sort of... went through with that."  
  
"Went through with it?"  
  
"Yeah, like – did you tell people, or what?"  
  
Joe kind of felt like crying. This was possibly the most embarrassing and awkward conversation of his life. Except for maybe when he father sat him down to try to talk to him about girls. "Not really."  
  
"You didn't?"  
  
" _No_." Except... "Well, I mean. Andy. But that's all. You can't, like, say anything, dude – I haven't even told Pete. Andy only knows because he basically forced me to say it..."  
  
"I wasn't going to say anything!" Patrick told him, sounding mildly hurt that Joe thought he would out him. "I was just asking..."  
  
"That was totally one of the worst moments of my life, man, and I kind of wanted to pretend it never happened. I avoided the store for weeks, after that."  
  
"I know. I work there."  
  
 _Wait. He noticed that?_ There was a horrible sinking feeling in Joe's stomach. "Is it, like... a problem or something?"  
  
Patrick looked at him like he was insane. "Why would it be a problem?"  
  
"I... dunno. I just thought..."  
  
"Dude, the first thing I ever knew about you, except for that you seem to really like Borders a lot, was that you had y'know: questions about..." he looked around as if he expected someone to be following their conversation through a pair of eyeholes cut into a newspaper, "stuff. If I had a problem with that, wouldn't I just not want to hang out with you in the first place?"  
  
"I guess." Joe focused all his attention on carefully shredding a napkin onto his empty plate.  
  
"Joe, I knew and I talked to you anyway, first chance I had, right? I just don't want to open my mouth and say the wrong thing in front of people. That's why I asked."  
  
Sighing, Joe nodded reluctantly.  
  
"I actually... thought you were kind of cool. For doing that. Knowing."  
  
"Yeah, except kind of the whole point was that I didn't."  
  
"But you do now."  
  
For a second, Joe had a mental image of all the blood rushing to his face making his head explode like a cartoon thermometer. He made a vague gurgle and reached for his glass.  
  
"What, so you don't think you are, now?"  
  
Joe's eyes lifted skyward for some mercy. _Smite me. Just smite me now. This is cruel and unusual punishment and it's unconstitutional_. "No. I mean – yes. Yes, I do. I'm actually kind of certain that I am, but can we just talk about, y'know: _anything else at all_? Please?"  
  
Patrick gazed at him for a few moments and then drew circles in the ketchup on his plate, with a french fry. "I only asked because I'm interested..." he said, making an admirable attempt at turning the same colour as the condiment.  
  
"Well, just like, be interested in something else, seriously. This is so embarrassing."  
  
Opposite, Patrick gave a loud huff and turned to the nearest waitress to ask for the dessert menu.  
  
\---  
  
Joe actually felt pretty bad for being so insistent on not talking about it, but he'd been so completely mortified. He hadn't told most of his best friends, let alone a restaurant full of people, and knowing for sure that _Patrick_ had figured it out straight away (and wasn't that ironic) was just plain humiliating. He would actually have preferred to never look him in the eye ever again, but they were supposed to be in a band together and they had their first practise the next day... so he went a mile and a half out of his way to walk him home, trying to think of a way to apologise.  
  
Patrick was quiet most of the way. When they were by themselves he usually wouldn't shut up, even if he was shy the rest of the time, and by the time they reached the end of his street, Joe was pretty desperate to put things right.   
  
"Patrick?"  
  
Patrick glanced up at him and mumbled, "Hmm?" before returning his gaze to the sidewalk.  
  
"Look, I just wanted to say I'm like, _sorry_ for... before. I didn't mean to be an asshole, I just... You have seriously no idea how weird this is, right now..."  
  
"I guess."  
  
Joe groaned and rubbed his forehead in frustration, "Oh, now you're _mad_ at me, aren't you?"  
  
"No!" Patrick stopped in his tracks and caught Joe's sleeve to make him wait. "I'm not _mad at you_ , dude, I just... I feel like an idiot and I wish I hadn't said anything anyway, so, y'know: let's pretend this never happened, okay?"  
  
"Pretend what never happened? The conversation, or, like... the –" _don't say date, don't say date_ "- whole hanging out thing?"  
  
"Well, I just meant the conversation... The part where I, sort of... whatever."  
  
"Oh. Right. Sure."   
  
"Because, I mean – we have practise tomorrow and it's gonna be awkward if we're not cool..."  
  
"We're cool," Joe assured him quickly, grabbing his elbow without even thinking about it. "We're totally cool, aren't we?"  
  
Patrick nodded vigorously. "Yeah. Good." He reached up and scratched twitchily behind his ear. "So, um... I think I can make it home from here. It's only about eight houses down, so..."  
  
"Oh. Yeah," Joe nodded, suddenly clamouring for an excuse to stick around a little longer. "I, um. Thanks, dude... For, like, being cool."  
  
"I'd have to be a total asshole not to be..." Patrick was blushing and not looking at him and Joe was sure he was in pretty grave danger of things being Not Cool again, so he thought he'd quit while he was ahead.  
  
"Okay, so, I'll like, see you tomorrow."  
  
"Two-thirty," Patrick said, and he was smiling and it reminded Joe of the first time he'd seen him in Borders and he'd watched him smile at his colleague and Joe wasn't sure what possessed him, but suddenly he was leaning forward and pulling him into a brief but fierce hug.  
  
He stepped back and shoved his hands in his pockets quickly, starting to back away. Patrick stared at him with a peculiar, slightly amused look on his face.  
  
"See ya..."  
  
Patrick laughed a little and waved at him. "Bye..."  
  
When he reached the end of the street and looked back at the corner, Patrick was still standing there. He gave another awkward wave, before ducking his head and heading off towards his house.  
  
Joe ran the entire way home.  
  
\---  
  
Andy picked Joe up from his house, the next day; he was playing a show later than night and he had to bring the kit anyway. Joe climbed into the passenger seat and tucked his guitar down between his feet before looking up at him and saying hi.   
  
Andy was looking at him inquisitively, caught between a smirk and a frown.  
  
"What?"   
  
"You're smiling."  
  
"Is that not allowed?" Joe asked, smiling wider but trying to hide it in the action of putting on his seatbelt.  
  
"Why are you smiling?" Andy asked flatly, before both eyebrows shot up above his glasses and he asked, "Did you get _lucky_?"  
  
"Yeah, right," Joe replied, wishing he could claim that he had.  
  
"So, why's little Joey so happy today?"  
  
Joe shrugged.  
  
"It's obviously something to do with your little friend, man, so you can save the twenty questions, if you want."  
  
"It's, like... nothing, really," Joe began, not wanting to look at Andy because he felt stupid. "We just hung out yesterday. It's nothing."  
  
"Hung out, huh?" Andy echoed, nodding sagely and Joe could hear the grin in his voice, even as he played with the strap on his guitar case. "Is that code for, 'We went on a date'?"  
  
Joe just grinned into his chest.  
  
Andy apparently took his silence as a 'yes' and asked, "Did it go okay?"  
  
"Well, I don't... I don't know if it was like, actually a _date_ or anything, but we went to some themed diner place, and I walked him home..."  
  
"If he was a girl, you wouldn't even be questioning whether that was a date or not."  
  
"He asked me like, tons of questions about..." _how can I say this without telling you about basically one of the worst moments in history?_ "...um. About whether I came out or not..."  
  
"He knows?"  
  
"There was... like, I don't even want to go there, but he kind of knows. Well. Now he definitely knows, but he kind of knew before."  
  
"And he wanted to know if you came out?"  
  
"Yeah... that part didn't go so well."  
  
"What did you do?"   
  
"I freaked out," Joe admitted, feeling even more of an idiot in the cold light of day than he had before. "It was just _so_ embarrassing, dude. I think he was like, trying to show that he was okay with it, but I just basically made him drop it and he was kind of quiet until we were pretty much at his house and then... Well, I guess we're okay, now."  
  
Andy reached across and patted him supportively on the shoulder, while trying to keep his eyes on the road, "It's always really awkward at your age, man, and I mean that's just for straight kids – it's always going to be pretty complicated, but you have to start somewhere."  
  
"Well, I kind of wish I hadn't started by introducing him to Pete."  
  
"Hmm." Andy didn't even ask for clarification. "I give it a month, tops, and then he'll be all yours because Pete'll get bored and move on to the next kid. He does it every time..."  
  
"Yeah, but I found him –" he sounded like a two year old stamping his feet and yelling, 'Mine! Mine!' but it was true "- and Pete had him _sleep over_ last week. How is that even...?"  
  
"Joe, if you want something you can't just expect it to fall in your lap. Pete's a little older so he already figured that out. That's why he mostly gets what he wants: he asks for it. Maybe not literally, but you know what I'm saying."  
  
"But I – " Joe cut himself off, knowing he'd sound like a girl if he'd finished with 'really like him', and substituted, "I just don't want to like, freak him out and get in the way of the band or something."  
  
"We haven't even had our first rehearsal yet – what band are you going to get in the way of?" Andy laughed gently. "And Joe, when I said you had 'a lot in common' I was basically saying I thought he liked you."  
  
"Ser... seriously?"  
  
"He showed up, didn't he?"  
  
\---  
  
Joe wouldn't have been so disconcerted by Pete answering the door if they had actually been practising at Pete's house; but they weren't. They were practising at Patrick's.  
  
"This kid is like, a fucking genius," he announced without so much as a 'hello', waving a can of Coke wildly and splashing some onto the dark blue carpet. He glanced around and then rubbed it in with the toe of his Chucks.  
  
Joe cast Andy a dark look. Andy shrugged and poked him in the back to make him walk inside.  
  
"You know he's like, got a whole bunch of stuff written already? And it's all fucking amazing, kind of."  
  
Pete led them down the basement stairs to where Patrick was perched on the edge of the battered floral couch covered in holed rugs to hide the pattern beneath, hunched over his guitar and fiddling absently. He smiled when Joe walked in, and gave him a small wave before focusing intently on his guitar again.  
  
"Told you," Andy whispered in his ear before pushing past him to study Patrick's drum kit and shift it to his personal arrangement.  
  
Joe was a little too busy watching Pete perch himself on the arm of the couch, leaning on Patrick's shoulder, and wondering what exactly was wrong with the rest of the room that he felt the need to sit _just there_. He forced himself to unzip his guitar case and start setting up his amp instead of watching Patrick turn crimson as Pete fingered his hair and told him they were going to be huge.  
  
He missed Patrick scrunching up his nose and batting Pete's hand away.  
  
As it happened, once Pete had gotten around to actually picking up his bass and they managed to play something, they gelled neatly. It could have had something to do with Joe, Andy and Pete having played or just jammed together on and off for years, but Patrick hadn't; no one would ever have guessed.  
  
Naturally, Joe was glad that his new band (actually the first he'd founded, rather than joined or subbed for) seemed to have at least the potential of getting beyond the basement door, but it was definitely marred by the way Pete walked over and gleefully kissed the top of Patrick's head, grinning over at Joe and Andy, after one particularly good run through of their first 'song', cobbled together from some of Pete's lyrics and a few parts Patrick had shown Joe.  
  
Joe turned away and raised his eyebrows at Andy, breaking rhythm to strum a few bars of _Jolene_. Andy gave him a pointed look and shook his head. Pete looked from Joe to an otherwise oblivious Patrick and pulled a face. Joe wanted to smack it; he settled for fantasising about 'accidentally' breaking Pete's perfect, gentile nose with the head of his guitar.  
  
\---  
  
When they decided it was time to call it a day so Andy and Pete could head over to the venue for that night's soundcheck, Joe gathered his things and all but ran out to the van, without much more than a grunt in Patrick's direction. He waited on the sidewalk for Andy to catch up, and glowered at the floor when Pete bounded out, an enormous, shark-like grin on his face.  
  
"Joseph," he began, grabbing him in a headlock and scrubbing a hand through his hair, "your literature habit deserves a fucking award or something."  
  
"Fuck off, dude!" Joe twisted out of his grip and vainly attempted to flatten his fluffed-up fro. He added, more quietly, "I wasn't there for the _books_."  
  
"Whatever. CDs, then. I knew keeping the fuzzy rugrat around would pay off one day, dude." He waited for Andy to unlock the back and threw his stuff inside, not apparently considering the drum kit already stashed within, or the welfare of his own instrument. Joe shook his head and turned around to get into the van, glancing up at the house one last time. His stomach lurched when he realised Patrick was standing at the door, giving him a half-wave before shoving both hands in his back pockets.   
  
"I'll see you later," he called across the front yard.  
  
Joe responded with a briefly raised hand and climbed in.  
  
\---  
  
Joe really wasn't sure that pulling up for a hardcore show with Morrissey blasting at Spinal Tap volume was entirely cool, but then, he wasn't Pete Wentz. People would probably think he was being subversive or ironic, or something. It was also really irritating to have to sit between Andy and Pete while Andy's generally quiet voice yelled over _November Spawned a Monster_.  
  
"Hey, Pete? Joe's got something to tell you."  
  
"What?"  
  
"No, I don't."  
  
"JOE. HE HAS SOMETHING TO SAY."  
  
Pete looked at him. Joe looked at his knees. "What's up, dude?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"C'mon, man, Andy never lies. What's up?"  
  
" _Nothing_."  
  
Pete scrutinised him for a moment and then sat back in his seat, putting his foot up on the dash. He pursed his lips as if he was thinking, and gave Joe a sidelong glance. Joe ignored it.  
  
\---  
  
It was after Pete came off stage sweaty and buzzing and jumped on Joe's back, yelling in his ear, "Dude, we're going outside," that Joe finally found out what the look on Pete's face had meant. He shrugged at Patrick, who had stood beside him all night without really ever saying anything, and headed for the door, shrugging Pete off his back as he went.  
  
"What?" he asked, stopping by a group of kids sitting on the steps outside, but Pete just pushed him with both hands and guided him out of earshot. "Pete! Would you, like, tell me what the hell the problem is?"  
  
"Well, that's kind of why we're out here, dude," Pete declared, apparently having decided they were far enough away from listening ears to explain. He grimaced a little, as if deciding what to say and finally settled on, "So, I totally understand and that's like, cool or whatever, but. You know nothing's gonna happen, right?"  
  
Joe blinked at him, his guts turning to ice. _Hurley, you fucker, I am going to tear off your fucking anarchist vegan fucking head_.  
  
"I mean, it's probably just a phase and you'll grow out of it, kind of, so... We're going to look back at this in a year's time, or whatever, and it'll be the funniest fucking thing ever." Pete slapped him on the shoulder companionably, adding, "Dude. Seriously, don't look so weirded out, I told you I'm cool with it. I won't, like, think of you differently."  
  
"What?"  
  
Pete's eyebrows jerked disbelievingly. "Okay, if you want to pretend or something, I get it. We never had this conversation, ever." He wrapped an arm around Joe's shoulders and turned him back as if to head back inside, "But for what it's worth, it makes a change from all the chicks, y'know?"  
  
Joe shrugged his arm off. He knew Pete could be a little single-minded, but seriously. "You _asshole_!"  
  
"Oh, c'mon, dude – I'm not trying to hurt you or whatever, I'm _flattered_ , I just don't, like... think of you that way."  
  
Suddenly, Joe understood and he would have laughed if it wasn't all so horrifically embarrassing. "You...? You think I have a crush on you."  
  
Pete laughed uncertainly, looking confused. "Well, I mean..."  
  
"Dude, you think I have a crush on _you_."  
  
Pete had the decency to look abashed, "You don't?"  
  
"Oh, yeah, Pete, I'm just desperate to get into your pants, man," Joe deadpanned, not entirely sure if it was arrogance or obliviousness that had led to this ridiculous assumption.  
  
"Joe, Pete!" Patrick's voice called from the door of the venue. "Andy's looking for you – are you coming back inside?"  
  
They both looked over at him for a moment and Pete waved. "Yeah, we'll be right there..." Then he turned back to Joe, but Joe was already heading back across the parking lot, praying that the last five minutes had happened in a parallel universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene  
> I'm begging of you please don't take my man  
> Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene  
> Please don't take him just because you can
> 
> Your beauty is beyond compare  
> With flaming locks of auburn hair  
> With ivory skin and eyes of emerald green  
> Your smile is like a breath of spring  
> Your voice is soft like summer rain  
> And I cannot compete with you, Jolene  
> \-- Dolly Parton, [Jolene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qGEubdH8m0s)


	3. Your Secret's Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe saw him first.
> 
> * * *
> 
> **_Note from 2007:_**  
>  I did try to find out as much as humanly possible about the Arma tour and the line up when Joe subbed for them, but it wasn't easy, so I went with what was most workable and what didn't freak me out for personal reasons. I've heard rumours that Joe played bass on that tour, but that was Chris's instrument and there's footage of them together on stage, so it makes no sense. I hope this holds it together despite any anachronisms.

**The World's Not Waiting (For Joe Trohman to Stop Being a Pussy and Start Going For What He Wants)**  
 _Part Three: Your Secret's Out  
  
"Where winning looks like losing..."_  
  
  
"I think you should, like, say you're making pancakes or something before you say anything else," Joe mused, leaning against the counter as Patrick made coffee. "Make sure he's not in a pissy mood or something."  
  
"I think _you_ should, like, get used to the idea that _we_ are telling him, and not just me, dude."  
  
"But..." Joe gave him his best Mournful Puppy expression.  
  
"No way, dude." He was smiling, though; the smile that meant he'd give in if Joe tried a little harder.   
  
Joe tried.  
  
  
\---

  
**Summer 2001.**  
  
Joe leaned heavily against the van door as Chris shoved his shoulder against it, trying to force it shut on all the equipment they'd had to ram behind it. Finally, with a satisfying click, it locked and they sank down on to the asphalt outside the Wentz house, sloppily high-fiving and breathing a sigh of relief.  
  
Joe still couldn't believe this was actually happening. He still couldn't believe his parents were letting it. In fact, he couldn't believe he'd been asked and that he'd ever agreed in the first place.  
  
(Of course he'd agreed – it was fucking _Arma Angelus_!)  
  
Chris climbed to his feet and wandered off to find Pete, just as Patrick peered around the side of the vehicle and grinned at him.  
  
"Hey. You guys almost heading off?"  
  
Joe got up, hurriedly, dusting himself down, "Um. Yeah, pretty much... What're you doing here?"  
  
Patrick blushed and shrugged, "Just came to see you guys off." He tugged at his cap and squinted out from under it, shading his eyes from the sun. "Two of my best friends are going on tour without me and it seriously sucks."  
  
"Oh."   
  
"I wish I was coming with you."  
  
"Yeah," Joe nodded, checking as subtly as he could to see whether Pete was within earshot. "Me too, dude."  
  
"I'll see you on the 21st, I guess, when you get back..."  
  
"You're coming to see that?"  
  
Patrick's nose scrunched in the shade from his hat, "Obviously, I am."  
  
Joe leaned a touch nearer and whispered urgently, "I'm playing in fucking _Arma_ , dude!" as if it were a huge secret that Patrick didn't already know.  
  
"Surprisingly, I was actually aware of that," Patrick grinned back, patting his arm.  
  
They both stood in a self-conscious silence for a few moments before Joe suddenly remembered something. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the cell phone his mother had forced him to take, before he left the house. "Look what I got."  
  
"Are you taking that with you?" Patrick asked, looking a little shocked. He had a tendency to grimace and change the subject every time Pete encouraged him to get a cell of his own so that he could always reach him. To be honest, Joe couldn't blame him.  
  
"It's one of the conditions they made before, like, letting me out of the house this morning. I have to call every other day. It's gonna suck."  
  
"Can I," Patrick paused and cleared his throat, focusing on trying to find a pen in his record bag. "Um. Can I get your number? I'll try to keep you sane."  
  
Joe spluttered like an idiot until he managed to mumble something almost coherent as, "Sure. Totally."  
  
No sooner had Patrick scribbled down the number on the back of his hand in some of the most illegible handwriting Joe had ever seen, than Pete appeared, wrapping both arms over Patrick's shoulders and announcing, "C'mon, Trohman: we're going."  
  
"Okay," Joe mumbled, moving around them to pick up his bag and throw it into the seat behind the driver.  
  
"Don't worry, Stumpy," Chris grinned, knocking his hat back on his head, "We'll take care of your little girlfriend."  
  
"Dude!" Pete snapped, punching him in the arm, "He's my best fucking friend."  
  
Adam laughed loudly from where his ass was sticking out of the van, re-arranging his stuff, "Emphasis on the 'fucking'."  
  
"I wasn't even talking about you, Wentz, you fucking jackass."  
  
Joe turned around just in time to see Chris's finger being jabbed in his direction. Patrick looked like a plum tomato in a hat and he was pretty sure he looked much the same himself. Only, less with the hat and more with the freshly-bleached fro.  
  
He couldn't wait to get away from there.  
  
\---  
  
Touring, Joe discovered, about twelve hours in, was not one insanely awesome roadtrip with guitars, but actually kind of a pain in the ass. No one seemed to have pre-planned who was driving which shifts or where they were sleeping and after an argument resolved with rock/paper/scissors and resulting in a dead arm for Timothy, Joe was ordered to sit in the front and talk to Pete while they headed to the next city. He was already exhausted and Pete kept hitting him in the leg every time he thought he was drifting off.  
  
This was not how he expected life on the road to be.  
  
The club on the sixth night was overcrowded and people kept elbowing him and actually, he just wanted to go home (or at least crawl into his corner of the van) at this point. He leaned against a wall and yawned, stretching both arms above his head and elbowing a girl standing next to him in the ear. She ducked, and turned to look at him, giggling.  
  
"Oh – man, I'm sorry. I hope that didn't, like, hurt or anything..." he gushed, putting an apologetic hand on her shoulder for a moment. "I'm just totally wasted and not paying attention and stuff."  
  
"It's cool," she assured him with a grin. Then, "Aren't you in that last band?"  
  
"Um. Kind of. Just for this tour, basically."  
  
"Aw," she said, giving him a gentle shove, "I thought you were pretty awesome."  
  
"Thanks... I didn't write anything, I just played what I was told."  
  
"Doesn't matter – I still liked it. Where are you guys from, anyway?"  
  
"Chicago."  
  
"Cool. I have a cousin in Hammond."  
  
"Oh. Cool," Joe nodded, watching a cute guy talking animatedly to his friend, perched on the edge of the stage, and trying to think of something to say to the girl. He didn't spend much time talking to girls, generally, and he was already too tired to be sociable. He looked around for something to prompt him. Instead he saw Pete standing close to the bar and grinning; he promptly raised his eyebrows and the can of soda in his hand as if encouraging him when he caught Joe's eye. Joe's mouth dropped open and he shook his head – the last thing he wanted was to have Patrick told that he'd been making up to a girl on tour; so he beckoned him over. Girls were always distracted by the presence of Pete.  
  
Pete didn't hesitate. Approximately four seconds later, he was sliding an arm around Joe's shoulders and smiling at the girl. "New friend?"  
  
"Amy," she smiled back, Joe abruptly and thankfully forgotten.   
  
"Pete. Are you taking advantage of our little Joey?"  
  
The girl laughed coyly. "Not at all, I was just saying 'hi'."  
  
"Good, because I'm responsible for this guy and I don't want to have to warn you off, or whatever."  
  
"Warn me off?" she giggled, looking at Joe. "I don't think he's interested in me anyway."  
  
Joe blinked and looked at her wide eyed. _Oh seriously, no, no, no!_  
  
"I saw you checking out Jeremy, man. You should go and say hi. He's sweet. Plus he's equal opportunities."  
  
For a moment, Joe froze; then he turned red, and then he carefully glanced at Pete, afraid of the look he might find on his face. The look, it turned out, was of absolute shock. His eyes seemed about to fall out of his head, his mouth was open wide enough to show most of his many over-sized teeth. A few moments later, he was being pushed into an uncomfortable plastic chair in the small, graffitied room masquerading as 'backstage', with Pete slumping beside him.  
  
Joe frowned at the dirty grey carpet and with what looked suspiciously like an old vomit stain by the wall, and finally muttered, "It's no big deal." It really didn't sound that convincing, but he still had _some_ pride and he was in the middle of a tour with a bunch of guys who thought of him as a baby so he had to at least pretend he was okay with it.  
  
Pete stared at him. "When I thought you had a crush on me, I figured it was a phase. I didn't... I didn't think it was serious, dude. I didn't think..." Pete trailed off, with a sharp huff of disbelief. "Andy's going to be totally blown away by this, you know."  
  
"Andy knows. He's cool."  
  
"Andy knows? You told Andy, but you didn't say anything to me?"  
  
Looking up at him, expecting the petulant expression Pete adopted when he was making something all about himself, Joe was surprised to find he looked genuinely hurt.  
  
"I figured I was one of your best friends, kind of. I can't believe you didn't tell me, man. Who else knows?"  
  
"Nobody knows, dude. Only Andy and... and Patrick, and Andy figured it out without -"  
  
"The whole band knows? But not me? That's _not_ cool."  
  
"You thought I like, had a crush on you, dude, I figured you knew!"  
  
Pete just shook his head. "I thought it was a phase, or whatever, dude! As bombshells go, this is pretty huge, man. You're so _straight_. You're just... so, so _straight_."  
  
"Look, Pete, I don't even talk about this, okay, I just... I just want to be Joe, I don't want to be 'that queer kid', like I used to be 'that weird kid'." Joe swallowed and stared at the floor the moment he'd said it; he hadn't even known that himself.   
  
"Dude. You're still 'that weird kid'. You'll always be 'that weird kid'. This doesn't change shit. I mean, I'm pretty pissed that you didn't say anything, but you _know_ me and the guys would take care of you no matter what – "  
  
"It's not that, dude, I can take care of myself..."  
  
"Against my sister, maybe."  
  
Joe punched him in the arm; Pete just laughed and called him a bitch, then slung an arm around his neck, pressing his forehead above Joe's ear.   
  
"Dude. Me and Andy think of you like our kid or something. Whatever happens, we've got your back. You've gotta trust me, or whatever, so I can be like... there for you."  
  
Joe grinned a little bit and wrapped an arm around Pete's back and mumbled, "Thanks, mom."  
  
\---  
  
For the first time in what seemed like forever, Joe realised that he was actually enjoying having Pete around. In the weeks since their first rehearsal, and Pete's idiotic assumption that Joe had a crush on him (just because every other under-18 on the scene did, did not make it compulsory), Joe had been beginning to find Pete more and more irritating. Pete seemed to have had decided, about a month after – a month during which he'd spent approximately four out of seven nights a week occupying Patrick's time, one way or another – that Patrick was his brand new BFF, and Patrick didn't seem to get a choice in the matter. Patrick didn't actually seem to want one, except for during moments when he and Joe were hanging out and Pete appeared from nowhere to drag Patrick off; even though he went willingly, Patrick would give Joe a impatient 'Be right back' before he disappeared. But he never said 'no' and he didn't often come back, either.  
  
Pete had been one of his own best friends, a few months ago; until the night at the club, Joe wanted to snap at him or inflict varying degrees of pain, every time he opened his mouth.  
  
That night, though, parked up on a grass verge by a gas station in the middle of nowhere, Joe sat out on the ground while the others began to bed down for the night in the back of the van. He wasn't hating the tour, he wasn't even at the point of hating Pete, anymore – if anything, in the last few days he'd found his former fondness for him returning. He was just starting to feel tired of the pranks and the lack of space and, as much as he _did_ hate to admit it, he was starting to miss home (and his mom, just at tiny bit). He had the cell phone in his hands, looking at it longingly. The battery was half depleted, so he'd have to charge it at the venue the next day, but he'd called home the night before and they weren't expecting to hear from him again so soon. Instead, he was thinking about calling Patrick. It was late, but it was a weekend and when they'd last spoken – the same night they left Wilmette, when Patrick called after the show, asking how it went – he said his mother was leaving him and Kevin in the house for the weekend while she went to stay with her sister; they would probably still be awake, even if it was almost one in the morning.  
  
It had been barely a week, and he was starting to feel miserable not because he was stuck in a shitty van with a bunch of guys five years older than him, pretty much, or because he'd been eating junk food every day since he left home and he was actually starting to accept that maybe his mother was right and it wasn't possible to "live on that garbage", but mostly because he missed hanging out with the funny-looking kid in the glasses.  
  
He thumbed the send button, almost working up the nerve to call when there was a scuffling and Pete appeared beside him.  
  
"You want?" he asked, holding out a bottle of Mountain Dew.  
  
Joe shook his head and quickly switched the phone away from the directory so Pete couldn't see whose number he had considered dialling.   
  
"You okay, dude? You're like... doing an Andy or something. Getting all thinky on me."  
  
Snorting, Joe shook his head. "I'm fine."  
  
"Homesick?"  
  
"Nah..." _Fucking liar, dude._  
  
Pete laughed and slung an arm around his shoulders, giving him a companionable hug. "I am, man. I miss sleeping in a bed and getting mom to make me food. And my dogs, kind of. I miss my dogs. I'm like, the lamest-ass rockstar ever, or something."  
  
Joe smirked and shrugged.  
  
"Wish we could've brought the guys with us, huh?" Pete continued, looking back at Joe, his arm still draped over his shoulders.  
  
"Hm..." _You wish you'd brought Patrick, you mean, dude._  
  
"You know what?" He waited expectantly until Joe sighed and indulgently asked 'what'. "I've been on tour with these guys for a couple of years, or whatever – or, y'know, some of them, anyway – and I still want to go home and hang out with Stumpy and Andy and you. Like. I dunno. I just feel like we're going to be awesome, dude. The four of us. You and Andy and me and that kid. It's like... like it was _supposed to happen_ , man. You meeting Patrick and telling him about the band and him just. Seriously? How fucked up is it that you just happened to be there and he _happened_ to get involved in your conversation?"  
  
 _Not all that fucked up, considering how much time I spent in that store in like, the past year, 'cause, I dunno, I might maybe have had a crush on someone who worked there, or something, basically. Who knows? Oh, wait..._  
  
"Do you remember what that weird little fuck was wearing?" Pete was giggling to himself and Joe was starting to wonder if he'd forgotten that Joe was even there, or was perhaps just a prop so he could gush out loud without seeming crazy. "That's when I knew, dude. Nobody who takes themselves seriously would actually wear that, kind of. And the music, is so more than anything to him, dude. And then I started, like, hanging out with him by ourselves and talking to him and, like, _really_ talking to him – "  
  
 _Hey, dude, have some salt and rub just in that wound, right there._  
  
" – and that is one seriously fucking smart kid. He's what? Sixteen?"  
  
"Seventeen. He was seventeen in April..." Joe mumbled tugging the lace on his sneaker and trying not to sulk, because he was seventeen, too, in six weeks and not a fucking kid any more.   
  
"Seventeen, then, and he's just... He like, fascinates me. But at the same time or whatever, he's just _Patrick_. He's like, so fucking simple... but... he's totally _not_ and I fucking _love that_."  
  
Joe's stomach churned. Everyone who had ever been through high school knew that if someone claimed to 'love' somebody's qualities it actually just meant they didn't have the balls to admit to more. He wondered where 'fascinating' Patrick went when they hung out watching 80s sci-fi. Patrick was Patrick was Patrick. He was always Patrick, to Joe. He was a little weird, yeah, but it was endearing, and Joe was hardly one to point fingers in that respect and Pete was way worse. Even Andy had some pretty _holy shit_ ideas about the ways of the world. Patrick was basically a music-obsessed kid, just like Joe, and either Pete was getting a whole other personality during their little secret sleepovers – in which case 'weird' wasn't the word, but 'unhinged' might be – or Pete was just plain delusional.  
  
"Y'know, dude," Pete began again, sounding strangely uncertain and un-Pete-like, fiddling with the cap of his bottle and tapping his feet on the grass, "lately, I kind of noticed _you_ acting weird, a little..."  
  
 _Shit_. "I still don't have a crush on you, Pete."  
  
Pete stopped grinning when Joe didn't grin back. "I mean, since before we talked or whatever. Don't you... kind of... _like_ Patrick or something? 'Cause I want you both in this band, dude, and... it just. Look, is something wrong, or whatever? 'Cause he's the most awesome person I ever met and you... you're just like family to me, dude, you know that. But you don't hang out any more and... I feel like there's something –"  
  
Joe put him out of his misery before he was in danger of speaking in a full sentence. "Chill out, Pete, seriously. I don't have a problem with Patrick. The guy's fucking awesome."  
  
"Oh. Well, I mean – good. That's like, really good because I was worried you'd leave or whatever and this is pretty much your band, kind of..."  
  
"It's not 'my band'..."  
  
"It was your idea."  
  
Joe almost stopped to think about saying what he did next, but somehow stumbled at the hurdle. "Yeah, and Patrick was my friend. If you weren't, like, keeping him all to yourself we  _would_ hang out more, dude. We did hang out more before you met him. Now he just hasn't got the time with work and school and you. So, y'know: thanks."  
  
Pete stared at him. "Huh?"  
  
Immediately wishing he hadn't said anything, Joe muttered, "It doesn't matter, dude..." and tried to think of a way to change the subject, but Pete didn't seem to want to let it go.  
  
"How can you say it doesn't matter? If you thought I was stealing you friend, or whatever, you should at least –"   
  
At that exact moment Joe's phone started ringing. His stomach dropped alarmingly as the little green screen flashed at him.  
  
 _Patrick. Patrick phoning. Holy shit, Patrick phoning. Patrick –_  
  
"Your mom's gonna be worried if you don't answer that."  
  
Joe blinked and scrambled to his feet to wander down the verge away from the bus.   
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hey, Joe," Patrick's voice asked softly, before a pause and a sudden burst of laughter, "'Hey Joe'. Dude. I'm good – I quote Hendrix by accident."  
  
Joe grinned the widest he had in days.  
  
"How's life on the road?"  
  
"Um. Okay, I guess."  
  
"Just okay? There's not like, an army of Joe fans trying to get your number or anything?" Patrick's voice asked with an awkward chuckle.  
  
"No way, dude. The only person who, like, asked for my number this week is you. I had this one chick tell me I was cute, but she meant, like, baby duck 'cute'... It sucked. She wasn't even a dude."  
  
Another laugh that made Joe a little more homesick.  
  
"So, um, how are you?"  
  
"Hmm, y'know. Wishing I wasn't back home stacking shelves. I've seen Andy, like once, because I went to see them at a show with Simon, but I totally miss you." There was a pause. "You and, y'know, Pete, both..."  
  
Joe gave an involuntary snort as his stomach twisted uncomfortably, "Yeah. He misses you, too."  
  
"Well. That's good to know."  
  
"Yeah. It's like, one in the morning or something, though, man..."  
  
"Did I wake you up? Shit, Joe, I'm sorry – I'll call you tomorrow..."  
  
"No way, I was just like, hanging out on the grass... talking to Pete."  
  
This time there was no laugh, but a lengthy silence.  
  
"It's um. Pretty weird, dude. Being like, out here. With fucking _Arma_. And Pete's being – " he stopped abruptly, looking over at the form now laying back on the grass with arms outstretched and knees pulled up. "Pete's being Pete, pretty much."  
  
"But, he's cool, right?"  
  
"Um. Well... like, maybe quieter than normal, but basically okay."  
  
"Are you sure? I mean... is he sleeping at all? When I stay he keeps me up all night and it's like it's normal for him to never sleep. Could you just tell him I said 'hi' or something, later?"  
  
"I... hang on." Joe pulled the phone away from his ear, looking at the screen. There was just one tiny black bar of life left in his battery, meaning maybe five minutes. For a few seconds, Joe gazed at the phone and chewed his lip; he glanced over at Pete and put the phone to his ear again, "Patrick?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Wait there."  
  
The look on Pete's face as he put the cell to his ear and Patrick's voice responded to his smooth, "Well, good evening, Mrs T, how are you tonight?", was exactly the reason Joe did it. It was also the reason he sighed miserably to himself and climbed into the van, leaving them to talk, knowing he wouldn't be needed.  
  
\---  
  
It was sometime during that night, while he was laying on the floor and pretending to be asleep, that the door opened with its increasingly familiar whine and Pete crawled over, slipping the phone into the side of Joe's bag.   
  
Pete had been outside far longer than the battery could have lasted. He must have called Patrick back on his own cell, and continued the conversation.  
  
Joe hadn't wasted the time he'd spent in his sleeping bag, gazing at the metal side of the van. He had spent it carefully weighing up the situation, and eventually, he'd figured that if he was someone as awesome as Patrick, he would have chosen Pete: the hot dude (and even Joe could acknowledge that, even if he wasn't interested) who fronted some of the best bands on the scene; not the clumsy, dorky Jewish kid who was once labelled a stalker by half of the bands Patrick respected. Somehow, Pete invariably got what he wanted – Andy had been right about that, even if his One Month Theory had gone down the drain a month and a half ago. There didn't seem much point in risking humiliation for what he couldn't have.  
  
When he got home, he was going to just back the fuck off. If it really meant that much to Pete – and fuck, he'd lasted more than twice as long as Pete's other obsessions already, so it clearly did – Pete could have him.  
  
"Dude, seriously: are you okay, or whatever?" Pete's voice whispered close to his face and making him jump. "You've been quiet since we talked about Stuff, kind of, and Patrick was asking what the fuck the matter was, 'cause you didn't want to speak to him when he called."  
  
"Huh?" _Didn't want to talk to him? Is he, like, fucking insane?_ Joe lifted his head, turning to look at the boy crouched behind him, "I did. I gave the phone to you because he was just like, asking about you, dude."  
  
"If he wanted to speak to me, he would have called _me_." Joe watched the exaggerated shrug and then the slump of Pete's shoulders silhouetted in the darkness. It didn't exactly suggest the comfortable nonchalance that his voice did. "Actually, he wanted me to put you back on the line, but the little battery thing was flashing. I just stayed outside a while because I won't sleep no matter where I am." He paused for a minute and then said, "Look, dude, I'm responsible for you right now, kind of, so if there's something wrong, I'm here or whatever, okay?"  
  
Joe wasn't sure how to tell him, especially after the way Pete had been looking out for him, lately, that it was he himself who was the problem, so he just rolled over and mumbled, "Yeah, dude. I know."  
  
"Wait, don't go to sleep yet," Pete said quickly, tugging on his shoulder to pull him back to look at him.   
  
"Dude, I'm tired."  
  
"Listen, Joe... I like, think I have an idea what's going on, kind of."  
  
 _Ten bucks says you don't_.  
  
"I'm really sorry, or whatever. I just. He's not into dudes. I already talked to him about some girl he's into."  
  
Joe felt extremely sick, suddenly, but tried not to let it show on his face, unless Pete's insomnia had allowed him to develop the ability to see in the dark. "Just forget it, man... it doesn't matter."  
  
"No, actually, it totally matters. Are you going to be okay with that, or whatever? 'Cause if you're as hung up as you've been acting lately – even if I just figured it out, this like, totally makes sense of everything – it must suck, pretty much."  
  
"I'll get over it."  
  
"I'm sorry, dude."  
  
"Okay, so, like, when you two have finished having your _fucking_ chick flick moment, can I sleep?" Timothy's voice asked through the darkness.  
  
"Fuck off, man!" Pete snapped, dragging his sleeping bag up and settling down next to Joe. "We're having a private conversation."  
  
"Then have it quietly. Jesus."  
  
Joe sighed and buried his face in his pillow. Now at least one other person knew. It was only a matter of time before every kid on the fucking scene knew.  
  
"It'll be okay, dude," Pete whispered, squeezing his shoulder.   
  
For the first time in as long as they'd known each other, Pete fell asleep before Joe did.  
  



	4. No Less Defeated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe saw him first.

**World's Not Waiting (For Joe Trohman to Stop Being a Pussy and Start Going For What He Wants)**  
 _Part Four: No Less Defeated  
  
"Because they've got me in a bad way..."_  
  
  
"I just hate drama, dude."  
  
"You also hate chicken nuggets, but only because we forced you to eat them."  
  
"Drama is not chicken nuggets."  
  
"No," Patrick mused, settling back into the sofa with his coffee, "I've been told it's llama."  
  
  
\---  
  
 **2001.**  
  
Being home was weird. They had a show the same night they arrived, so there was barely time to head back to his parents' and shower and eat before he was heading back out to the venue for soundcheck.  
  
He was the first one there, except for the little strawberry-blond dude kicking his heels against the wall and drumming along on his knees to whatever was playing on his over-sized headphones. He leapt up and wrenched them off the moment he saw Joe approaching, his smile lighting up like a halogen bulb.   
  
"Hi," Patrick said, looking up at him so happily Joe's gut clenched with regret, "How was it?"  
  
"Um... Cool..." Joe nodded awkwardly, scratching at his hair and then shoving his hands as deep into his pockets as possible. "You're like... pretty early, dude."  
  
"Oh. Um. Yeah, I know... I had some time, so I figured I'd y'know, come by, welcome you guys back... see if I could help out..."  
  
"Is Pete here?"  
  
Patrick shook his head. "Not that I saw."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Joe?" Patrick had a concerned look on his face, his nose creased and his mismatched eyebrows slightly peaked in the middle. "What's up, dude? You seem kind of... out of it."  
  
"Nothing... I'm cool." _I just want to like, hug you or something, but I can't because that would be a) weird, b) totally inappropriate and c) risking a fucking kicking, now. And... and you're fucking_ straight _dude. I almost started to believe you liked me, and you're – you're..._ "I have to get inside. I'll speak to you later."  
  
He left Patrick standing on the sidewalk, heaving his guitar case on to his shoulder and not looking back. He'd never _really_ had the nerve to believe otherwise, but now that he knew the contrary it was just painful to think about; Patrick wasn't interested. Not at all. He probably only hung out with Joe because of Pete. Or at least before he and Pete started their little secret club. Well, okay, maybe that was the self-pity talking, but he felt he had a right to that, at least.  
  
 _What the fuck ever, like, made you think anything different, dude? You got a themed burger and walked him home. He didn't ask you to. He didn't even hug you back._  
  
He didn't see Patrick again until he walked in with Timothy, who yelled, "Hey, Duck Hunt: you lost something!" and disappeared into the back room, leaving Joe still on the stage, tuning up, and Patrick standing near the rear of the venue. He didn't approach; he just remained there, hands in the pockets of his denim jacket, his head slightly bowed.  
  
Part of Joe felt guilty; Patrick hadn't technically done anything wrong. He couldn't help his sexual preference. And yet, at the same time, he felt a little betrayed; led on by the looks and the touches and phoning him at one in the fucking morning.  
  
"What did Pete say to you, dude?" Patrick asked, suddenly leaning against the front of the stage, sounding as though he dreaded the answer.  
  
"What makes you think he said anything?" Joe countered, stepping on his pedal slightly harder than was necessary, mad at himself for being so gullible.  
  
"You didn't exactly have time to speak to anyone else, did you?"  
  
True enough.  
  
"Dude, I don't know what I've done, but I am _real_ sorry, okay? I haven't seen you in two weeks and now you're like... I dunno. Really pissed off."  
  
Joe shrugged and refused to look at him. He knew he must seem childish, but the more Patrick stood there, acting wounded, the more he wanted to demand to know what he had to be so upset about.  
  
"Y'know. This is... this started after you left. 'Cause, between that first night and when I called you again, you stopped wanting to talk to me. Are you even going to give me the chance to make it up to you, dude? Because I can't do that if I don't know what I did."  
  
"Who says it's even about something you did?" Joe shrugged again, putting down his guitar and jumping off the front of the stage to pull a new cable out of his bag, tired with the fuzzy crackling from the one he was using. It would probably give out mid-show, anyway.  
  
"What, so it's something I _didn't_ do?"  
  
"Could we just, like, _drop it_ , dude?" _Now you sound like an asshole. Way to go._  
  
"What? No! I just... Wait. Wait, dude, is this about, y'know. About Chris calling you my girlfriend or something? Did they give you shit for that? Because that is totally _not my fault_ and I resent being held responsible."  
  
Joe busied himself with bunny-hopping back on to the stage. "Don't worry about it, man. We all know how _straight_ you are, anyway."  
  
Patrick's face drained of colour.  
  
Joe tightened his top E so hard it broke.   
  
"Straight?" Patrick backed away from the stage and turned half away from him, hands firmly in his jacket pockets. "Who decided that?" he asked, in the exact same overly-casual tone he'd used when asking Joe if he wanted to get dinner, that one time.  
  
"Does it matter? It's, like, the truth, right?"  
  
"I guess it must be, if that's what people are saying."  
  
Joe looked up from where he was kneeling on the floor, changing the string. "What?"  
  
"Oh, I'm just kind of confused how people 'know' enough to say that when I haven't even – " he broke off in frustration. "Listen, it's not that simple, okay?"  
  
"How is it not that simple?" Joe demanded, but his heart was racing, hope starting to seep through just a little. He crushed it as best he could. He'd already made his decision in the van a week ago. "You told Pete about that chick."  
  
"Well – yeah, but – "  
  
"Then how is it not that simple, dude? You either like chicks or you don't."  
  
"Oh, sure – and if you like red, you have to hate green."  
  
"Huh?" It was around this point that Joe realised he was flailing out of his depth and in grave danger of humiliating himself in a way he had thought he would be able to avoid.   
  
Patrick moved back to the stage and leaned on it heavily, looking up at him. "Joe, I don't know right now, okay? Until a few months ago, I thought I did, and then..." He stopped and rubbed his forehead as the main door swung open noisily and the manager walked through lugging a crate of bottles. "This is totally the worst place to have this conversation."  
  
"No shit."  
  
"Can we, kind of, talk about this later? Somewhere else?"  
  
Joe shrugged again, his mouth suddenly dry.  
  
"Please, dude?"  
  
"Whatever, man. Like, if you want, then whatever."  
  
"Cool." Patrick sighed heavily, clearly relieved. "I'm going to, y'know, go wait outside. See you later?"  
  
"Not if I see you first."  
  
\---  
  
Joe didn't see Patrick first; he did see him standing to one side of the room before their set, yelling at Pete, but the second support were so loud Joe couldn't figure out what he was saying. All he knew was that Patrick looked severely pissed and Pete looked totally thunderstruck. Their set that night was tense; people kept fucking up. Pete eventually got so wound up he smashed his mic into its component parts and they finished two songs early.  
  
Patrick accosted him the moment he stepped out of the dressing room, grabbing his arm and pulling him aside. Pete, following behind Joe, took one look at them and headed for the bar.  
  
"We need to talk, now," Patrick informed him, his eyes following Pete's retreating form.  
  
"Like, _right_ now?"  
  
"Dude, you said we could talk later. Now is later."  
  
Joe sighed and rubbed his eye with the heel of his palm; he was already tired and he couldn't face arguments and more drama than he had already dealt with, today. "I think I'm basically just gonna, like, call my dad and have him come pick me up..."  
  
"I'll wait outside with you. We can talk there." As persistent as Patrick was, his voice was beginning to develop a slightly desperate edge and Joe couldn't bring himself to say no.  
  
Joe quickly gathered his things while Patrick stood in the doorway, drumming his hands tensely, and then called home from the payphone in the entryway, forced to almost yell over the morons squealing and giggling and generally being obnoxious.  
  
They had fifteen minutes.  
  
Instead of heading out to sit on the wall, as Joe had expected, Patrick set off in the opposite direction, toward the back of the building, an area normally frequented by unfussy couples and dudes who thought the smell of burning marijuana wouldn't carry on the first waft of a breeze. It was oddly deserted tonight; one pair of guys drinking from a bottle in a paper bag, down by the chained-up fire escape, but no one else. Patrick led Joe toward the opposite end, by the kitchen door of a neighbouring take-out.  
  
"So. Yeah," he began, looking around nervously for listening ears. "Talking."  
  
"Okay...?"  
  
"So. What Pete said, about me being, y'know. Straight?"  
  
"...Yeah...?"  
  
"He kind of. I mean, he sort of... _misunderstood_."  
  
"Right."  
  
"The thing is, y'know. There was a girl, from school, who I liked. I kind of liked her since we were in fourth grade and she let me use her coloured pencils."  
  
 _Oh man. Why are you telling me this? Why can't you just, like, get to the point so I can go home and listen to the Morrissey CDs Pete made me?_  
  
"But... kind of recently, I started paying more attention to other people, and I kind of. I basically kind of noticed that I wasn't always paying attention to girls."  
  
Joe felt a small burst of triumph in his chest before a small voice at the back of his mind reminded him that he had about twenty seconds before Patrick announced that he had a crush on Pete.  
  
"This is like, huge. The hugest thing since I realised I was never going to have a miracle growth spurt that made me six feet tall or something. Because, I mean – I always assumed I was normal like that. I always assumed I was into girls and I was going to grow up and settle down and have kids and... whatever. And I mean, I did _try_ to say this to you in that diner, but you just weren't hearing me, dude. Or you were pretending I wasn't saying it, I guess. I don't even know. But – "  
  
Joe watched intently as Patrick's hands flapped around nervously and he jabbered on without any apparent plan to reach a conclusion. "Dude, are you okay?"  
  
"I'm fine! I just..." He scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration, "I _really_ like you, dude, and I thought we were cool and kind of going somewhere, but now you're acting like I've done something heinously wrong but I don't even know what it is."  
  
There was a lengthy silence as Joe tried to process this sudden revelation and decide if it meant what he wanted it to mean, or whether Patrick was just really good at saying totally misleading things.  
  
"Joe? Oh man – don't be weird about this. Please, don't be weird about this. It doesn't need to change anything, I mean – pretend I never said it if it makes you feel bad." The rising panic in Patrick's voice was palpable; however he expected Joe to respond, it wasn't well.  
  
"But... you spend like, all your time with _Pete_ , dude. As soon as you met him you didn't want to hang out with me any more, because you had him and I totally get that, because he's way cooler than I'll ever be, but seriously. What the fuck? If – if this isn't basically some really fucking messed up joke he's getting you to pull, why would you even do that?"  
  
"You stopped asking me to!"  
  
"I stopped because I knew you'd be all like, 'Oh, I'm sorry, I'm kissing Pete's ass again, tonight'. What was the _point_ in asking? You were never gonna be like, interested in me with that guy around..."  
  
Patrick opened his mouth to respond, and stopped. "What?" he asked uncertainly. "I mean - ? I mean... I kind of... I kind of figured we were almost, sort of... dating. Almost. And like, you _knew_."  
  
"How can we be dating? I like, never see you, practically!"  
  
"I said 'almost'! Like, it was just a matter of time... Does this even matter?" Patrick demanded, suddenly grabbing Joe's wrists to make him focus. "The main thing is, we're... I mean. Y'know. This is... mutual."  
  
"Well... I guess, but... dude. I can't, like... I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one and it would suck so bad if he hated me for it if we, like, maybe did something about it."  
  
"What?"  
  
"He looks out for me, dude. I can't just... I realised this like, on the tour. He pretty much wants to have your babies, man, and don't think I could like, forgive myself or something."  
  
"Pete?"  
  
"Well... yeah."  
  
"Pete."  
  
" _Yeah_."  
  
"That is the most fucking ridiculous thing I ever heard, dude! Pete does not have a crush on me."  
  
"It's pretty obvious he does."  
  
"But... okay, so say he does, hypothetically. Does what I want matter? I mean, Pete's cool, and I guess he's kind of attractive, but... I like _you_ , dude. I just told _Pete_ that, right before your set. He knows I'm not into him."  
  
Joe looked at his sneakers and shook his head helplessly.  
  
"Oh, come on, dude. Do you seriously think Pete would do the same for you?"  
  
To be perfectly honest, no, Joe didn't. But he had his own moral code and it wasn't based on 'What Would Peter Do?'.  
  
"Joe?" Patrick said softly, his hands dropping down from Joe's wrists to clasp his hands, starting to sound like he was begging. "You're the first dude I really _wanted_ to date and not just like, thought was hot, and you can't blow me out right after saying you feel the same. Seriously."  
  
Somewhere close to the front of the building, a car horn sounded.  
  
"That's probably my dad. I have to go." He tugged his hands free and picked up his amp. "I'll see you at practise, Wednesday."  
  
"Dude, wait."  
  
It was difficult to make a quick exit with a show-size amp, but he damn well tried. Every single inch of his insides felt like it was tied in knots and he kind of wanted to throw up and cry at the same time, especially when the sound of a trashcan being kicked seven ways to Sunday rang out behind him. To add insult to injury, as he passed the side of the building he was met with Pete and a girl Joe knew for a fact was in the year below him at school, making out like they were auditioning for a porn movie.  
  
 _He would never turn someone down for you._  
  
And that was the real kicker: Joe knew it only too well.   
  
\---  
  
Late on Wednesday afternoon Joe was sitting on his bed, knees pulled up to his chest, the wistful strains of _That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore_ keeping him company, when there was a soft rapping on the door. He didn't even have time to tell whomever it was to go away, before Andy was closing the door carefully and kicking off his sneakers to sit down beside him.  
  
"Your mom said you're crying off practice today."  
  
Joe shrugged.  
  
"So, okay, why are you listening to Pete's 'Just Got Dumped' compilation?"  
  
All in all, Joe felt kind of lame. He'd put himself in this position, after all.  
  
"What happened, Joe?" Andy asked, bumping his shoulder into Joe's, lightly. "I'm guessing it's Patrick-related, so, do you want to start there?"  
  
"He, um," Joe began, clearing his throat. He hadn't spoken to anyone all afternoon, dreading the thought of being in the same room as both Patrick and Pete. "Turns out, he liked me all along."  
  
"Seriously?" Andy nearly giggled, sounding pleased. "That's awesome, Joe!"  
  
Joe shook his head. "Pete would like, never forgive me, dude."  
  
"Pete? Pete isn't dating him. Patrick's a free agent and he can see who he wants. If Pete hasn't made a move, then he has no right to care."  
  
"That wouldn't stop him, dude. And it's like... when I thought he was coming between Patrick and me I hated him for it. I don't want him to hate me."  
  
"Joe, Pete is going to get over it within a week. Besides, he's seeing that girl now, I guess."  
  
"The one from last night?"  
  
"I don't know. Some girl who's way too young for him. He hooked up with her before the tour, and he came right back and did it again, so by his standards... He'll be telling us he thinks he'll marry her or something soon. And seriously, Joe, we have never, ever had it confirmed that he's sleeping with the guys."  
  
Joe looked at him doubtfully.  
  
"We _haven't_."  
  
"Having a dude's hands down his pants in the back of the van is like, way more proof than I need."  
  
Andy snickered. "So, are you gonna come to practice, or what? We can't really do it without you."  
  
Sighing, Joe shook his head. "I'm just like, gonna stay here. Tell the guys I'm sick or something."  
  
\---  
  
The next evening, around seven thirty, there was another knock on his door. Joe sat up and called out that he still wasn't hungry, and was met with a confused-looking pair of bluish-green eyes, blinking at him.  
  
"Um. I didn't bring food."  
  
Joe turned instantly red, and fumbled for his stereo remote in order to switch off the CD he was still listening to and save any credibility he may still have.  
  
"I thought you were my mom."  
  
"Sorry... She just told me to come up, so..."  
  
Joe was suddenly very glad that he was too miserable to be doing something more private than staring at the ceiling.   
  
"Andy said you were sick," Patrick told him, approaching the bed and holding out a Borders bag of magazines.  
  
"Kind of." Joe took the bag, feeling touched and like a complete douche at the same time. "Thanks. You didn't, like... have to."  
  
"I know I didn't, but I figured I'd need an excuse to get past your mom. Are you contagious?"  
  
 _Is being a fucking self-pitying girl contagious_? "I seriously doubt it..."   
  
"Oh. Okay," Patrick nodded and parked himself on the bed, facing him. "So, um. I have some news." He reached up and pulled back his jacket aside to reveal his name tag, which was freshly adorned with a reflective rainbow sticker and two blue glittery hearts. "I came out at work."  
  
Joe just stared at the stickers for a moment and then looked up at his face to see if he was kidding. There was no hint of a smirk. "Really?"  
  
"Yeah. Carrie kind of... noticed I wasn't my sunny little self and wanted to know what was up. It sort of went from there. People were... surprisingly okay."  
  
"What did you say?"  
  
"I told her the dude I was into blew me out. So, now all the girls hate you and one of the guys offered to kick your ass," he elaborated, seriously. "I told him I figured I could manage."  
  
"Um. Thanks. I kind of don't want my ass kicked by a book nerd."  
  
"He takes kickboxing, dude. But...yeah. Besides you guys, they're the first people I told. I mean, it's not like school, where I have to keep going even if people find out. I could have quit if I needed to..."  
  
"Did you tell your mom?"  
  
"Not yet."  
  
"Me either..." Joe admitted, taking a deep breath. His parents were generally pretty tolerant and easygoing, but there had to be a point when they drew the line. "I guess you must be, like, pretty sure about this, if you're telling people..."  
  
"I am," Patrick replied, resolutely. "I wasn't sure, and then I thought about it and, um. And about you, and about Saturday and I just... I know. I'm serious, Joe. I want you to take me seriously."  
  
Joe fixed his gaze on the plastic bag on his lap and smoothed the corners carefully. "You don't need to prove yourself, dude..."  
  
"Well, it kind of feels like it. Oh - speaking of: Pete brought his new girlfriend to rehearsal, last night."  
  
"Seriously?"  
  
"Yeah, and left after a half hour," Patrick added, playing with the opposite corner of the bag. "I think he was trying to prove a point."  
  
Joe was fairly sure this assumption was correct.  
  
"She was, y'know – really scene. Pretty, I guess. Not me... But I figure, I mean, if he has a new girlfriend you know he's not interested in me..."  
  
Joe shrugged. "I don't know, dude. He changes his mind a lot."   
  
"You could change yours," Patrick pointed out, shifting nearer. "While he's clearly not concerned with what we're doing."  
  
Joe swallowed and chewed his lip, trying to figure out where this was filed in his moral code. Currently, his best bet was 'Cool, If You Don't Mind Things That Will Eventually Blow Up In Your Face'. He decided to shrug noncommittally and avoid his eyes.  
  
"Dude," Patrick demanded, frustrated, "you do _actually_ like me, right? I didn't misunderstand that..."  
  
"Of course I like you!" Joe replied quickly, alarmed that Patrick would think otherwise. If he didn't understand that by now, Joe clearly had issues with expressing himself; more than any other not-quite-seventeen-year-old boy. "Why the fuck do you think I spent basically, like, the last year hanging out in a book store?"  
  
"Well, apparently it was so you could blow me out when I worked up the balls to tell you I like you."  
  
"Thanks, man. Good to know my loyalty to my friends is worth something with you."  
  
Patrick shook his head and sighed. "Andy told me you made a mistake."  
  
"I didn't say that."  
  
"No, but he thinks so. He thinks I should, y'know: not take 'no' for an answer." Patrick pointedly reached out and pulled Joe's hand over to clasp it in his lap.  
  
"Was Pete there when he said that?" Joe asked, suddenly feeling horribly embarrassed.  
  
Patrick rolled his eyes, "Yeah, right, Andy's _that_ insensitive. Dumbass. He just hung out a while after they left. He's... totally awesome. I completely understand why you worship the guy so hard."  
  
"He's like, my hero, pretty much," Joe nodded, looking down at the small, pale hand currently stroking a thumb over his knuckles, mildly thrown by the realisation that there was a  _dude_ holding his hand.  
  
"Then..." Patrick paused and licked his lips before looking up at him, "you should probably take his advice."  
  
Joe was quite sure that if Patrick had just smiled at him, he would have caved in a second, but he hadn't, yet. He seemed too nervous and uncomfortable to smile and that alone made Joe want to cuddle him like an oversized soft toy.  
  
"What if it like, ruins everything, dude?" he asked carefully, shifting his leg so it was pressed against Patrick's knee.  
  
"We won't let it. I mean, we can be adult about it, right?"  
  
"Whatever _that_ means..."  
  
"C'mon, dude – let's try. If it doesn't work out, or it causes drama, then... then okay, we'll write it up as a horrible mistake. So long as we can still be friends – and I totally think we can – then, there's nothing lost, right?"  
  
Joe sighed heavily and rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "Well..."  
  
"You totally want to say 'yes'!" Patrick grinned victoriously. "C'mon. C'mon, dude, say 'yes'."  
  
One look at the other boy's infectious smile and Joe was laughing self-consciously and nodding and mumbling, "Okay, okay... yes." And thinking, _holy shit, I'm dating someone. I'm dating a_ dude _and he's totally awesome._  
  
Patrick immediately let got of his hand and leaned over to hug him, tucking both arms under Joe's and smushing his face into his shoulder. Shifting his arms around awkwardly for a minute, Joe wondered how he could have possibly forgotten how to hug somebody, and eventually settled for just using one, while the other stroked Patrick's leg in a way that he really hoped wasn't too suggestive.  
  
They seemed to sit that way for hours before Joe worked up the courage to twist as best he could and press his lips to Patrick's cheek. Patrick lifted his head, flushed and smiling and lightly kissed him back; then again, slightly lower down. And then suddenly he didn't look so confident any more, and he was gazing at Joe's mouth intently.  
  
"Go on," Joe whispered, feeling his own cheeks burning. "It's cool. I think we're kind of obliged to make out about now."  
  
Patrick's smile returned for a flicker of a moment before he leaned in and kissed him full on the lips. Joe didn't hesitate to pull him closer and kiss back.  
  



	5. Put Your Hand Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe saw him first.
> 
> * * *
> 
> **_Note from 2007:_**  
>  This is a bit of a conduit chapter, with less plot progression than development, so... connect the dots.

**The World's Not Waiting (For Joe Trohman to Stop Being a Pussy and Start Going For What He Wants)**  
 _Part Five: Put Your Hand Between  
  
"And I'm feeling young and reckless..."_  
  
  
  
"What if he, like, wants to break up the band, dude?"  
  
Patrick snorted into his coffee and almost spilled it down his shirt. "Yeah, sure. He'd totally do that."  
  
\---  
  
 **2001.**  
  
It was fairly lucky that by the time Sam charged up the stairs and straight into Joe's room, yelling, "Joe! Joe – mom says you have to come down and have something to eat or she'll send Patrick home!" that Patrick was no longer practically in his lap, but sitting on the floor by Joe's feet, struggling his way through Super Mario 3 on the vintage SNES.  
  
Joe still chased him out and half way down the stairs, yelling at him about coming into his room without knocking _again_. He'd done that one morning on a weekend and left Joe having to convince him he just had a really bad itch _right there_. He still wasn't sure Sam believed him.  
  
"You want something to eat?" Joe asked, pushing the door shut as Patrick climbed to his feet.  
  
"Um. Yeah, sure, if that's okay... I went to work straight from school. I haven't gotten around to eating since lunch."  
  
"Dude, it's like, after nine!"  
  
"It is?!" Patrick looked at his watch. "It doesn't feel like I've been here that long... Should I leave? I mean, it's pretty late and, y'know..."  
  
"No, no – it's cool, dude. It's not like we have school. C'mon, we'll get a sandwich or something."  
  
They were sitting at the kitchen table, arguing the relative merits of crunchy vs. smooth peanut butter with empty plates in front of them, when Joe's mom walked in.   
  
"I guess you're feeling a little better, honey," she said, stopping to kiss him on the top of his head and stroke his still yellow-blond hair wistfully, as if she missed it being its natural brown.  
  
" _Mom_."  
  
"You should have seen him on Sunday, Patrick. Wouldn't say a word, wouldn't eat, just stayed in bed all day sleeping... Barely left his room at all this week – usually he's out every night at these shows, or -"  
  
"MOM." _I swear to God you're like, doing this deliberately_.  
  
"Oh, there, you see? He's too old to have his mommy talk to his friends, now."  
  
Patrick grinned and turned pink, but didn't say anything. He wasn't wearing his glasses or his hat and his bangs were sticking out in slightly odd directions in places; he looked like a shy twelve year old.  
  
"Mom – seriously. Do you make a point of humiliating your kids?"  
  
His mom pinched his cheek and laughed before heading to the drawer to collect whatever she had come into the room for, and then left them with the reminder that Sam would be going to bed soon and to keep the noise down if they went back upstairs.  
  
There were a few moments silence after she left, while Joe listened to make sure no one was left in the hall outside the kitchen. When the coast seemed to be clear, he mumbled, "You didn't hear the part about Sunday, okay?"  
  
Patrick smiled a little and pulled apart the crusts on his plate, absently. "I did."  
  
"Yeah, but pretend you didn't."  
  
"You weren't sick, you were _depressed_. It's... I feel kind of vindicated."  
  
"What, because I was feeling crappy you feel good?" Joe asked, only slightly indignantly. "Thanks, dude."  
  
"I didn't mean that, I mean that now I know what happened Saturday sucked for you as much as it did for me."  
  
Joe nodded reluctantly. "It sucked big time. It was like... I dunno. Cutting off my balls and feeding them to Pete's dog or something, pretty much."  
  
"Well, it was your choice, so don't expect my sympathy."  
  
"I thought I was doing like, the 'right thing' or something, dude."  
  
"You kind of need to stop doing that. But, hey, it wasn't even a week and I'm glad you changed your mind," Patrick said smirking and kicking his foot under the table. "I was gonna have to re-wire Pete's amp with 10,000 volts, otherwise."  
  
\---  
  
Between Thursday night and practice on Wednesday, they spent every day except Monday hanging out, and on Monday night Patrick called after work, just to say 'hi'. It was a 'hi' that took over half an hour and a debate over _The Empire Strikes Back_ vs. _Back to the Future 2_.  
  
Andy had finished college for the summer and taken his mom out of state to see family, that weekend, so they'd barely heard from him, aside from an email confirming he'd be at practice. Pete was doing his own thing and had left them entirely to their own devices. It had been nice – Joe hadn't needed to worry once whether he was going to have a chance to hang out with Patrick, or if Pete was going to hog his attention all week. It was a given that on work days, Patrick would come to Joe's in the evening. On non-work days, they would spend the time in Patrick's basement, writing music. And making out quite a lot.   
  
The first week had been filled with clumsy, awkward moments when neither of them really knew what they were doing, or what was okay and how far beyond kissing it was cool to go so soon. As it turned out, the answer was 'not that far', as one or other of them would panic and scramble for a diversion the moment hands wandered below belt-level. After the first few occasions, Patrick deftly grabbed Joe's hand as they lay together on the couch, and held it, instead of letting it rest on the curve between his thigh and his hip; he pulled back and grimaced, mumbling, "Sorry, Joe, sorrysorrysorry."  
  
"No, dude, it's like – it's cool. I mean, how many times have I freaked out?" He really hadn't meant anything by it, anyway.  
  
"I _know_ , but. It's just, y'know: kinda new. Kinda weird."  
  
"Oh, hey, man, you're like, preaching to the choir on that one," Joe assured him, letting him sit up and tentatively tugging down the hem of Patrick's t-shirt to cover where his jeans had ridden down slightly.  
  
"It's not like I even had a religious upbringing or anything dumb like that, dude, I just... I've never even had a girlfriend."  
  
"Yeah, and like I have – you know that, dude." Sitting up and leaning slightly against his shoulder, Joe added, "I don't see what the rush even is. We haven't even been, like, dating a week." _Well, actually, kind of parts of me really, really get what the rush is. Really._  
  
"Well," Patrick began, sounding frustrated, "it's not like I don't _want_ to do stuff, dude..."  
  
"Seriously, like, me too, but y'know... it's all good. Whatever. I don't want you taking advantage of me or anything... Ditching me right after I put out. My mom totally like, warned me about dudes like you."  
  
Patrick actually laughed a coy, adorable laugh and bundled into him, almost knocking them both to the floor. "Well, nobody's ever gonna want you just for your mind, dude."  
  
"I'm going to pretend that was supposed to be a compliment."  
  
\---  
  
Andy was early, not having to pick up Joe on Wednesday night. He appeared in the basement before either of them had realised he was there, and gave an amused, "Aw, that's cute," when he found Joe laying with his head on Patrick's lap and his guitar in his hands. Patrick was scribbling down words from scraps of paper in both his own barely legible scrawl and Pete's mostly capitalised slashes, trying to create something coherent.  
  
Joe blushed as he sat up, insanely glad that it was Andy and not Pete who had interrupted them – even though it would have made telling him a whole lot easier.  
  
"I guess you kids figured things out," he observed jovially, taking off his hoodie and draping it over the bass drum.  
  
Patrick just grinned.  
  
"Does Pete know?"  
  
"Um. Like, not entirely," Joe mumbled.  
  
"So, no?"  
  
"That would be... no," Patrick admitted, collecting together his pieces of paper and folding them into his pocket. "We were kind of, how can I put this –?"  
  
"Pretty sure he's gonna, like, throw a pissy tantrum, possibly say he's gonna quit the band, or something, and maybe kick my ass?"  
  
"I was just going to go with 'nervous', actually."  
  
"Apparently, Patrick's like, Master of the Understatement."  
  
Patrick sniggered and stepped on Joe's toes.  
  
"But, you're _going_ to tell him, right? Eventually."  
  
"Maybe when I can like, say it, and then run away," Joe offered.  
  
"Okay, I understand you guys are worried about how he's going to react, but the longer you leave it, the worse it's going to be. Because if he finds out from somebody else – "  
  
"Oh, no way – nobody's finding out. Not yet," Patrick blurted out, and Joe was pretty glad he hadn't had to be the one to say that. "I haven't even told my _mom_ , man, and I don't think the guys on the scene are gonna be exactly asking for invites to the wedding, y'know?"  
  
Joe stared at him. "That's a figure of speech, right?"   
  
"Yes, Joe, that's a figure of speech," Patrick assured him, looking at Andy as if to say, 'You see what I have to put up with already?'  
  
Andy didn't look comfortable. "I don't want this to be more drama than it needs to, that's all... I've known Pete even longer than I've known Joe, but my loyalties have to be pretty even. I'm happy to help you guys out, but I don't want to wind up with him thinking I'm picking sides or anything..."  
  
"Fine, then we deny everything," Patrick told him, "we're not dating."  
  
"We're just, like, really comfortable with each other."  
  
"Exactly."   
  
Andy laughed as they nodded firmly and Joe leaned on Patrick's shoulder to prove their point. "Remind me not to ever leave you two alone again when I go on vacation. I'll probably come back to babies or something."  
  
"Not unless I have some really fucked up biology," Patrick replied doubtfully, prompting an appalled 'OH MY GOD – UNCLEAN! UNCLEAN!' from behind the hands Andy had pressed to his face.  
  
"That was kind of more information than I even needed, dude," Joe agreed.   
  
"What's unclean?" Pete asked, almost knocking Andy over as he kicked open the basement door, lugging his amp and bass. "Did you offer him a hamburger again?"  
  
They all laughed nervously.   
  
"Something like that..." Patrick mumbled, adjusting his glasses and pretending Joe hadn't just been hanging off of him. "No arm candy today?"  
  
Pete flipped him off with a smirk. "Jealous?"  
  
"I can barely contain myself."  
  
"Hey – don't feel you need to for my benefit, or whatever."  
  
Patrick quirked an eyebrow at him and flatly replied, "Oh man. I am so jealous. The arrogant fuck who pretends to play bass in my band is boning some under age scene chick. Woe."  
  
Pete blew an air kiss at him while flipping him off again and unzipping his bass case.  
  
Joe cleared his throat and reminded himself that Patrick had chosen him, not Pete. "Can we, like, practice or something?"   
  
It kind of had a tendency to slip his mind.  
  
\---  
  
The day after practice, they went on their first real, official 'date'. Joe didn't even know where they were going until he stepped back into the '50s and was met with the sound of the Supremes and pictures of rosy-cheeked kids drinking bottles of pop laced with cocaine.   
  
"I figured, y'know: we could get it right this time," Patrick explained self-consciously when Joe stopped in the doorway and blushed.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Is that okay? ...I mean, this _is_ okay, right?" He suddenly seemed worried and started to reach for the door, but Joe grabbed his hand and pushed it back down.  
  
"I'm pretty sure if I was a chick I'd be, like, asking you to meet my parents or something for this..."  
  
"I've already met your parents. And I know from limited experience that girls don't have hairy stomachs, so you're not one of those."  
  
"So yeah, before I eat, I like, try not to think about gross stuff. You should try it out or something."  
  
Patrick jabbed him in the waist with his fingers and pushed him towards a booth. It wasn't the same one they'd had before, but closer to the back, with less passing traffic from other diners. They tucked themselves right up to the wall, enjoying the moderate privacy of both being short enough that the backs of the seats and the dividers between the booths almost covered them.  
  
Joe tugged the menu out of its stand and opened it on the table, trying to remember what he'd had before. He looked up a moment later to find Patrick gazing at him with a half-smile on his face and his chin perched on his hand.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing," Patrick blushed and picked up the triangular cardboard dessert menu.  
  
" _What_?" Joe asked again, nudging him under the table with the side of his Converse.  
  
" _Nothing_ – it's just, y'know... the only thing you read is fast food menus and music magazines and we met because you were buying a _book_ , man."  
  
"I'm not reading it, dude, I'm looking at the pictures," Joe replied archly.  
  
Chuckling, Patrick tugged the menu out from under his elbows. "Is it cool if I eat bacon?"  
  
"I don't think it's like, any cooler than eating beef, generally, dude..."  
  
"Wiseass. Is it _okay_ if I eat bacon in my burger?"  
  
"Why would it not be okay?"  
  
Patrick turned crimson and mumbled something that ended in 'goodnight, or something...' and Joe just stared at him.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
Patrick ordered a burger without bacon.  
  
"So... like, about Pete," Patrick began awkwardly, halfway though his apple pie and ice cream, spoon still half in his mouth.  
  
"About Pete..." Joe nodded slowly, taking a deep breath and pushing his own dessert away from him slightly.   
  
"About Pete and, y'know: us."  
  
"Yeah, I kind of figured, dude..."  
  
"Are we ever gonna tell him straight out, or whatever, or... I dunno. Just gonna leave it and let him figure it out?"  
  
Poking his spoon at the melting blob on his plate and frowning, Joe shrugged, "I guess as, like – a courtesy or something, we should maybe, tell him..."   
  
"But it's a case of _how_."  
  
"So, not like, 'Oh, hey, Pete, by the way, we're like da – '"  
  
"Dude!" Patrick hissed, eyes wide and ducking his head slightly to look around the diner from under his hair. It was several miles from either of their homes, but it was also summer and kids spent more time in the city when they didn't have to get home early for school the next day.   
  
"Shit. Sorry, dude..." Joe blushed, checking that none of his own school mates happened to be sitting nearby. He and Patrick attended different schools so neither of them would recognise the other's friends. Thankfully, he didn't see any faces he recognised, and carried on. "But like, I don't seriously have any fucking idea how we bring it up, man. Pete can be really extremely cool, but like, there are times when he just... totally reacts the exact opposite to what you expect, basically."  
  
"You still seriously think he's into me?"   
  
Joe watched Patrick pull his napkin into measured paper squares and pile them on a left over cardboard ketchup saucer methodically. "Oh, c'mon, dude – even you said that he had something to prove at practice by bringing whatever her name is! He kind of... I mean, while we were on tour, he like... I dunno. He started talking to me about how the band was gonna be, like, huge or something and how me meeting you and introducing you to him was kind of _supposed_ to happen... He said I'm like his and Andy's kid, but he talks about you like, this totally different way." Joe shrugged and stared down at his own plate. "I dunno, I can't even explain it, dude."  
  
"Yeah, I kind of noticed... Weird, intense conversations at y'know: four in the morning or something kind of proved that point," Patrick admitted, scrunching up the rest of the napkin and tossing it on top of the pile. "I guess Pete's just different to normal people, y'know?"  
  
"Different..." Joe agreed, nodding. He sucked the last few drips of Coke from the end of his straw and began tying it in knots for something to focus on. _Different like, cooler. Better looking. More popular. Smarter..._  
  
"Y'know, this isn't your fault, dude," Patrick told him, almost reaching out to grab his hand but pulling back as a waitress walked past; he settled for bumping their legs together under the table. "Even if you never looked at me twice, I wouldn't have dated him. He's too old, too cool, too... _Pete_ , honestly."  
  
Joe looked up and tried not to grin like an idiot. "He figured when I was acting weird it was because I like, had a crush on him. But seriously, dude: no way."  
  
Patrick snickered into what was left of his shake. "Cool... I guess that means we've established that Pete's not gonna be a problem in one sense..."  
  
"Yeah..." Joe was infinitely glad that Pete wasn't in the vicinity, because it ensured he could not make smug, triumphant noises like a five year old and embarrass himself.  
  
"So, then... if we're cool with us and, y'know: this; and cool with where that leaves him... do we tell him?"  
  
For a minute, Joe considered this; Pete was one of his closest friends, and it would be better to get it all out in the open from the start, so... he took a deep breath. "Let's go for it, dude."  
  
"Seriously?"  
  
"Seriously. First good chance, right?"  
  
Patrick grinned at him. "Deal."  
  
\---  
  
On the MetraRail back, Patrick held his hand. It wasn't a big deal; there was no fuss, they didn't talk about it, they didn't flaunt it. The carriage was mostly empty and Joe was just rambling on about his parents being cagey and saying 'seventeen isn't an important birthday' and how that should mean he didn't have to go to grandma's – especially on a Saturday! – and suddenly, there were warm fingers pushing themselves between his own and Patrick was reminding him that they could still go to the show in the evening, so it wasn't exactly going to ruin it.  
  
Joe kind of forgot what was going to be ruined in the first place.  
  
\---  
  
They didn't risk holding hands as they walked from the station to Joe's house, but once they were onto the quietest residential roads they tried it for a few blocks, letting go whenever they caught sight of headlights on the road. He wasn't sure if he was more concerned about getting his head kicked in or his parents finding out from one of the neighbours. His parents let him get away with murder – they pretty much always had – he didn't have a curfew, they let him do things like _tour with a bunch of hardcore dudes_ and when he came home drunk from Luke's party one time, they made him drink another double of whisky before bed and acted smug when he had the worst hangover in history the next day (which had been a success, because he hadn't been near alcohol since). They didn't trust him _not_ to do anything stupid, per se – they knew their eldest child well enough for that – but they seemed relatively convinced that a combination of straightedge friends and dumb luck would always get him home one way or another.   
  
But he didn't know if they would be as chilled about the fact that the first person he brought home to meet them was going to be a short, redheaded, non-Jewish _dude_. Admittedly, it was his grandparents who were more bothered about the Nice Jewish Girl part, but still, a dude of any race or creed was still a dude.  
  
At least his parents (or his mother at any rate) liked Patrick. She'd kissed him as well as Joe on the cheek when they'd left the house that afternoon, and left him flushed and slightly awkward until they were well away from home and thought of something to talk about. Then again, when Pete flirted with her she squished his face like he was an adorable grade schooler and kissed his forehead, so that wasn't saying much (but Pete had taken to flirting with Joe's dad instead, and that was just too funny for Joe to object to).  
  
Joe looked over at the boy walking beside him. It was pretty hard to imagine anyone not liking Patrick; he still wouldn't quite figure out why, even if Pete wasn't his type, Patrick was wasting his time on Joe. Sure, they had fun and they got along great, but he could do that with a friend, couldn't he? He didn't have to actively _date_ Joe for that (and while Joe had tried to argue with him about it, Patrick had refused to let him even pay his own his share and then insisted on walking him home, so it couldn't have been more of a date if they'd gone to a drive-in). Whatever madness had possessed Patrick to want to date him, Joe was more than happy to live with it. And in an oddly fierce sense, he'd have done pretty much anything to protect it.  
  
He probably should have considered that when they reached the Trohman home and he pulled him into the shadows by the side of the garage for a kiss, before he went inside.  
  
Patrick pulled away a little and looked wide-eyed at the living room window, where light was visible through a crack in the curtains, but Joe clapped a hand over his mouth so he couldn't say anything Joe's parents might hear.  
  
When he was convinced Patrick would be quiet, he pulled his hand away and kissed him quickly on the lips, whispering, "Shh, dude. They'll be watching TV or something... too busy to think about us."  
  
Patrick half-smiled and allowed himself to be nudged up against the wall (which made it a whole lot easier not to just over-balance in humiliating fashion). "What if your neighbours are watching, dude?" he whispered back.  
  
"Well," Joe shrugged, "you're cute and small so they'll think you're a chick and that I'm a dude with no like, morals or something."  
  
He received a sucker punch to the stomach (or more accurately, sort of near his hip) for his trouble, but Patrick kissed him back so he couldn't have been too offended; he actually had one hand tucked up the back of Joe's t-shirt by the time the kitchen light blinked on, two feet from their heads.  
  
They jerked away from each other in shock as Joe's mom twitched the net curtain aside and peered out into the darkness.  
  
"Joe, sweetheart, what're you doing? It's late," she called through the glass and Joe tried not to look too mortified.  
  
"Uh... sure, mom. One sec..." he called back, trying to subtly wipe his mouth with the inside of his wrist.  
  
Patrick gave her a small wave and hissed, "TV, huh?" He kicked Joe in the ankle as she waved back and dropped the curtain. "If she calls my mom..."  
  
"She won't, dude, it's like, totally not her thing," Joe promised, because it wasn't. His mother was very much of the opinion that if the was no risk of immediate maiming or death, it wasn't her place to raise other people's kids. Only to feed them excessively. Patrick still looked worried. "Dude. I swear, she won't."  
  
"I so hope not," he muttered, adjusting his shirt. "I gotta go, man... I'll see you tomorrow, right?"  
  
Joe nodded and risked another quick peck on the cheek before giving him a light shove down the driveway. "Right. Go."  
  
Patrick didn't seem to know whether to give him an outraged glare or a grin, but he turned to wave from the sidewalk and then stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets and set off home.  
  
Joe took a long breath and a moment to try to shake off any lingering vibes of, 'I was totally just making out with a dude on your doorstep, mom', and then pulled out his keys and prepared to face an interrogation.


	6. My Badge, My Witness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe saw him first.
> 
> * * *
> 
> **_Note from 2007:_**  
>  This is the last chapter with a present-day intro, for a while, so make the most of it.

**The World's Not Waiting (For Joe Trohman to Stop Being a Pussy and Start Going For What He Wants)**  
 _Part Six: My Badge, My Witness  
  
"And I'm always the last to know..."_  
  
  
  
  
"Come here."  
  
Leaning against the windowsill, Joe blinked and mumbled, "Huh?"  
  
Patrick looked up at him from the sofa and held out a hand, this time. "Stop freaking out and come here."   
  
"He's late, dude," Joe complained – although it wasn't really a complaint, because the calm before this particular storm was one he was quite keen to hang on to – but still climbed over the arm on the couch to sit beside him.   
  
Patrick immediately shifted to lean against him and tugged Joe's arm over his shoulder. "We've been here before, haven't we?"  
  
Joe grimaced before he realised Patrick wasn't going to look at him and did his best to repeat the action aloud.  
  
Patrick twisted to look up at him, frowning. "I thought we were stopping with the freaking out." Joe grimaced again and Patrick's nose scrunched up in a playful mock-frown. "No. No freaking out. Bad!" he insisted, punctuating his words with little jabs at Joe's cheek with his index finger. It was impossible not to laugh at him, so Joe responded by grabbing his hand and gently chewing his finger until Patrick yelled with laughter and made him stop.  
  
They settled back down with Patrick half-sitting in Joe's lap, his leg tucked over Joe's knee and Joe's arm hooked affectionately around his neck. "Only freaking out because you're actually kind of awesome," Joe murmured, pressing tiny kisses to Patrick's temple, "and this is kind of important to you."  
  
The grin that spread across Patrick's face was much more reassuring than the, "Yeah, it kind of is. Y'know: almost as much as you, Froboy."  
  
\---  
  
 **2001.**  
  
"And she didn't say anything at all?"  
  
"Nope. It was like, 'Hi, honey, nice day? Did you eat?' and I said was just going to bed."  
  
"And that's all that happened?"  
  
"Unless you count frantically jer – " Joe stopped mid-sentence and scrabbled mentally for a way to save it without experiencing epic embarrassment. They really hadn't addressed that matter, yet. "Um. I mean, like... nothing else happened, dude."  
  
Patrick's socked toes curled into the cushions of the couch and he seemed to be bowed more closely over his guitar, pensively fingering out chords without actually strumming it.   
  
"So... this is kind of awkward," Joe said, lightly, trying to cover the fear that his boyfriend ( _boyfriend_!) now thought that he was some kind of sex manic. He wondered if it would make things better or worse if he admitted that Patrick really was the person behind his eyelids at that point; it had to be better than letting him think it was someone else, right? "Dude... I know we've like, just been together or whatever for... a few days, basically... but, like... I liked you for _months_..."  
  
Patrick sat where he was for a few moments, and then carefully put down his guitar and stood up, dithering uncertainly and wiping his hands on his jeans. Then he headed for the basement door.  
  
"Patrick?" Joe began and leaned forward, starting to panic. "Dude?" _Oh man. Oh man, you have fucked this up so bad, dude... What the hell were you thinking? It's way too soon for this... you don't even have the chutzpah to do anything more than kiss the dude!_  
  
He was relieved, but slightly confused, when Patrick didn't open the door and leave, but instead dragged the biggest amp in the room in front of it, and then took a deep breath and walked back over to stand by the side of the couch where Joe's arm was resting. Not sure what was happening, Joe gazed up at him and waited for an explanation.  
  
"Do you, um..." Patrick cleared is throat and started again. "Do you want something to work with?"  
  
Joe's eyes bulged so wide he half expected them to fall out. "Um..." _Dude! Are you insane?! Yes! Yes, you do want. Seriously._ "Well..."  
  
"'Cause I... I kind of thought about it, quite a lot, after the other day... and I think it would be cool. To... I dunno. Turn it up slightly? Not to, y'know... eleven or anything, but... maybe... five?"  
  
Joe had no idea what the 'Tap scale had them on at the moment, but five sounded good. He could do five. "Seriously?"  
  
"Yeah... I think so."  
  
"But... a couple of days ago - ?" Joe began, uncertainly.  
  
"I was being a girl about it, dude. You're totally right: this isn't just about a week or two weeks or anything. It's been about _eight months_ or something since I first y'know... saw you. It's... I mean, it's not like it's something I don't know how to do. It's not like we haven't both been practicing since we were thirteen."   
  
"Twelve..." Joe mumbled, without thinking about it.  
  
"Details." The other boy replied, flapping a hand dismissively and looking at him so resolutely that Joe didn't know what else to say. He felt a tiny bit railroaded, but being railroaded into something he'd been considering in one form or another since before Christmas wasn't really something he was going to object to.  
  
"Okay... If you want, then just. _Okay_."   
  
Patrick gave him an awkward, relieved grin and climbed onto the couch beside him. The kiss was oddly chaste for someone who had just propositioned him so insistently, but Joe didn't mind; he responded by kissing him much less chastely, and trying to encourage Patrick to climb into his lap. It took a little enticement, but he finally gave in, murmuring, "Don't make me the girl in this relationship, dude..."  
  
"What, you wanna switch?" Joe demanded impatiently, well aware that the answer would be 'no'. Patrick pinched him in the shoulder and shifted so that he was kneeling either side of one of Joe's thighs. They stayed that way for a while, just making out with hands above belt-level, as they were used to, until Joe tentatively let his hand drop from under Patrick's shirt to settle neatly on his ass.  
  
One of them had to do something or they were going to be there all day. They didn't _have_ all day.  
  
Patrick's response was to mumble something indecipherable and press closer, his own hand, which had been resting innocently on Joe's shoulder, suddenly and somewhat surprisingly dropped to run up the inside of his thigh, instead. Joe was so surprised, in fact, that he almost knocked Patrick off his lap and onto the floor.  
  
"Is that not cool?" Patrick asked uncertainly, drawing his hand back as if Joe was going to bite it off.  
  
"Dude. It is... _so_ cool, just..." he reached out and pulled Patrick's hand down to the general vicinity, once more, "wasn't expecting it..."  
  
"Oh. Sure. Sorry." Patrick's hand went back to his thigh, gingerly – as if he thought he might burn his fingers on it – and then purposefully ran his fingers much, much higher than they had been. Joe was extremely careful not to knock him off his lap this time, in case he didn't try again. The next thing he knew, the hand was somewhere altogether more surprising, which really wasn't a problem, it was just a little embarrassing how eager – or, oh God, _desperate_ – he must have seemed, to have reacted accordingly in approximately 0.03 of a second.  
  
Patrick's hand stilled and he pulled back to blink at him, "Um... cool?" he asked.  
  
"Dude. I'd say that was like, a pretty massive clue that yes, it is cool!" He could feel his face burning.  
  
Patrick scrunched up his nose contemplatively, "Hmm... not _that_ massive."   
  
"You're pretty lucky I'm not like, totally paranoid about that, dude," Joe informed him, airily, and disguised his nervousness about reciprocating by wrestling him down on to the couch, so that Patrick was pinned half-under him and he could make a joke out of it. The joke didn't last long. It deteriorated into wet kisses and fumbled touching and awkward, occasionally fruitless rubbing and suddenly, there was a hand _inside_ his pants and, holy shit, he almost froze until Patrick made a point of undoing his own jeans and pointedly took Joe's hand and placed it where he wanted it. Which was quite enough encouragement, really.   
  
Later, gazing at the basement ceiling, with Patrick half-asleep and snuggled against him, Joe kind of realised that things were different, now. Not in a bad way – if anything, in a pretty damn good way – but still different. It wasn't as if it had really been any more than clumsy fumbling, and they still had a lot of stuff to work through (or, he hoped they did) but it had kind of started, and they were moving on and _definitely_ together and that made him feel a little bit like he wanted to burst. Or tell people. Although maybe not his parents. But Pete... yeah. Now he knew that he had something worth telling, and maybe defending, he was pretty sure he could do it.  
  
"Hey, dude?" he asked quietly, nudging Patrick.  
  
Patrick murmured, "Huh?" and lifted his head to look at him.  
  
"At the show tonight, I think we should like, go ahead and tell Pete, dude."  
  
Grinning, sleepily, Patrick lay back down and muttered, "Sure... Just... not in detail..."  
  
\---  
  
It seemed fairest to wait until after the set, just in case Pete turned out to be really pissed about things. Neither of them wanted it to end with more smashed equipment.  
  
After Andy's vacation and most of the bands they usually went to see at local shows taking a collective hiatus for a few weeks (possibly because Andy was in most of them), this was the first show they had been to since the argument in the alley. They had already agreed that there were to be absolutely no PDAs and to avoid talking about their new status as an item, in case the wrong person overheard them. The hardcore scene wasn't exactly known for welcoming queers.  
  
It was actually kind of hard. He hadn't expected that. Since that afternoon, Joe wanted to reach out and touch him every couple of moments. He didn't want to have to shove his hands in his pockets and keep an extra six inches away in case anyone became suspicious. They'd spent so much of the last week or so holed up either in Joe's bedroom or Patrick's basement that absent little touches had become pretty much normal and he forgot he was doing them, most of the time. Patrick kept side-stepping them and flashing him semi-amused glares. At one point he gave in long enough to squeeze Joe's fingers, and eventually, much later, they snuck down to the unused office corridor, past the restrooms and cut off by a fire door with a small window in it, just so they could take a couple of moments away from everyone else.   
  
Joe was mildly abashed by the fact that all he really wanted was a kiss and a short snuggle to be sure that all the distance really was an act, and that there were no second thoughts. He wasn't a girl. He wasn't even a particularly romantic person. He figured it was because it was all new and special and that it would fade a little in a few months. His parents certainly didn't spend all their time groping each other, anyway.  
  
As they ducked into the corridor, the first thing Patrick whispered was, "We're totally gonna get caught!" But then he had Joe against the wall before he'd even finished saying it which really kind of raised questions about how concerned he was.  
  
"Well, that would kind of suck," Joe told him, tucking his arms around Patrick's waist and kissing him quickly, just in case.  
  
Unfortunately, he wasn't quick enough.  
  
"Man. _Sick_."  
  
They turned to the door quickly to find the enormous silhouette of one of Pete's friends standing in the doorway. Joe didn't even have time to mutter, " _Shit_!" before Charlie had disappeared without another word.  
  
Even in the limited light from the window in the door, Joe could see how pale Patrick had turned. He looked mortified.  
  
"Dude? Are you okay?" he asked, grasping his hand.  
  
"We're so fucked."  
  
"It was just Chuck, dude... I can like, go after him, if you want... try to explain or something."  
  
"Explain what? 'Oh, hey, yeah – so what you saw? Exactly what it looked like.' That'll work."  
  
Joe guessed he had a point. Charlie wasn't exactly stupid.  
  
Barely a minute later, Pete burst through the door looking utterly horrified. Outside, Charlie stood with arms folded, as though playing a bouncer.  
  
"Pete –" Patrick started, pulling away from Joe to move toward him.  
  
"I like... don't know if I should be freaked out that you almost got your faces pulped, or whatever... or if I should be pissed that you didn't fucking tell me, _again_."  
  
"Dude, it's like, totally not like that... We were gonna talk to you after..." Joe tried, suddenly feeling like a jerk for not telling him as soon as Andy figured it out. Pete's reaction to finding out Joe was gay should have been a lesson.  
  
"What, 'after' you got you fucking brains smashed out on some asshole's boot, sort of thing?" Pete asked, sounding somewhere between horrified and infuriated.  
  
"Oh, c'mon, Pete – " Patrick tried, reaching out to him placatingly.   
  
Pete shook his head and turned to Joe. "Dude. I though _we_ were cool. I thought that like, on the tour, we had like... an agreement or whatever."  
  
"We do, dude..."  
  
"So why the fuck did I just have Chuckie come find me to tell you two to like, get a room, or whatever? Why wasn't I in a fucking place that I could be the one to kind of _warn you_ before this fucking happened, dude? And you are _so fucking lucky_ he only cares that he got his eyes burned with people being cute!"  
  
Joe opened his mouth to explain, but he really didn't know what to say – so Patrick got there first.  
  
"Okay, you know what? We were going to tell you, dude. We were fucking going to tell you tonight, but we were waiting until after the fucking set because last time, you smashed shit up because I told you I liked him. That's why you don't fucking know, okay? Because we totally knew that this would be all your fucking problem! Poor fucking Pete."  
  
"Oh, Trick, c'mon..." Joe said softly, surprised by the outburst and pulling him back a little so he didn't end up smacking Pete in the mouth. "It's not like that, dude..."  
  
"Bullshit! You were the one being all, 'Oh, what if he hates me for it?'"  
  
"Thanks, dude..." he murmured, not wanting to look at Pete, too ashamed of himself. Because it was true. He'd betrayed one of his closest friends' trust, questioned his loyalty by expecting him to be anything but pleased for them. What a fucking jerk.  
  
Pete just looked between them, and finally gave a heavy growl of a sigh. "Didn't you think I'd be fucking _happy_ for you?"  
  
"Happy like the end of the tour, when you, y'know: smashed shit to pieces?"  
  
"What?" Pete demanded coolly.  
  
"See, I totally didn't get it, before. _He_ did," Patrick replied, pointing at Joe, who just wished the shadows would swallow him up. "He totally figured out what your problem was and I thought he was being paranoid, dude."  
  
"What problem?"  
  
"You. Your problem with him and me and always fucking wanting my attention and getting pissed when I told you that actually, no, the reason I wasn't interested in you wasn't because I like chicks, it was because I liked _him_. It's as transparent as fuck. I can't believe I didn't see it."  
  
Pete's eyes narrowed. "Dude, like, get over yourself or whatever. You can't seriously think I'm jealous, because of _you_? I have a girlfriend." He snorted and folded his arms, and did his best to look disdainful, but even Joe wasn't buying that.  
  
"Dude..." Joe sighed, "seriously – I like, almost turned him down because I didn't, like, want to fuck things up with us, basically. Because I, like... I mean, it's been pretty clear since day one, dude, that you... kind of. Y'know. And I mean, on the tour... you were all 'me and Patrick' and talking about him all the time, and when I gave you the phone you were just, like... totally so _happy_..." he tried, afraid that this would force him to choose between his boyfriend (and he still couldn't get over that concept), one of his best friends, and maybe even his band. The band hadn't even played a single show, yet, but he was pretty sure Pete was right and they were going to be amazing if they just stuck at it and worked things through. "Please don't, like... Please don't be mad, dude."  
  
Patrick pointedly grabbed hold of Joe's hand and lifted his eyebrows, as if to say, "What're you going to do about it?"  
  
"I'm only _mad_ that you couldn't like, trust me or whatever! Do I have a sign on my back that says 'Asshole' or something?"  
  
"No, dude... you have to believe us..." Patrick told him, apparently softening to the dejected pull of Pete's voice. "You're totally the second person who knows. Andy just walked in one day when we were hanging out. That's the _only_ reason he knows, man. We didn't choose to tell him."  
  
"We just literally got together," Joe added as earnestly as he could, hoping Pete would believe the truth and not ask questions about what exactly that meant.  
  
"We're supposed to be a _band_ , kind of. Like, a team? Just... stop keeping shit from me..." Pete demanded, scuffing sulkily at the floor. "It's not like I can't say 'best man won' sometimes, or whatever."  
  
Joe cast Patrick a glance; he thought that may just have been a confession, but Patrick's face was inscrutable.   
  
"He did win," Patrick said quietly, but with a warning hint beneath it which caused a soft swell of self-importance somewhere in Joe's chest. "It's taken us an _age_ to get here, dude. Now we are. We want it to be okay with everyone. Including you."  
  
Some small voice at the back of Joe's head was still trying to wail, _Woah, shit – dating like, ten days! Too heavy. Stop now. Abort conversation_ , but he ignored it and felt mildly smug at his new-found maturity. Must be the whole Really Nearly Seventeen Thing.  
  
There was a long silence in the corridor, and outside Joe saw Charlie duck slightly to look through the little window, wondering if they were done. Finally, just as things reached the point of awkwardness, Pete announced, "I'm happy for you. Like, seriously. Whatever makes you kids happy, kind of. But if this screws with the band in any way, ever, then I'm going to cut off your dicks and make some earrings."  
  
It was a fairly remarkable feat on Joe's part that he didn't just blurt out, "Well, they wouldn't match..." but somehow he managed it. And this was a good thing, because he was fairly sure Patrick would have disembowelled him with a teaspoon if he had.  
  
\---  
  
The entire way home, or at least until he and Chris were dropped off at their apartment, Charlie gave them shifty glances to make sure they weren't being 'fluffy'. Joe wasn't entirely sure what he'd have done if they were, but he thought it better to be safe than sorry, and was relieved when they finally hopped out of the van with a flurry of affectionate obscenities at Pete, and disappeared.  
  
Just the four of them remained.  
  
Patrick took this as a cue to yawn loudly and slump against Joe's shoulder. Joe obligingly tucked an arm around him and echoed the yawn just as he caught Pete's eye in the wing mirror.  
  
"It's past his curfew already," Pete observed flatly, looking away.  
  
"'M staying at Joe's," Patrick informed him, through another yawn.  
  
"Does Mommy know?"  
  
Patrick flipped him off and made himself more comfortable.  
  
"Nobody's mommy knows like, anything, dude," Joe reminded him. He had a funny feeling that if they didn't keep a careful eye on Pete, a lot of people's mommies might accidentally overhear.  
  
"If you two just like, only got together last week or whatever, how come you have him 'staying over'?"  
  
"'Cause we're capable of being in the same room without needing to pretend we're in a porn film..." Patrick muttered.  
  
"Speak for yourself, dude!" Joe teased, flicking his ear.  
  
Andy glanced at them in the rearview mirror and smirked, shaking his head.  
  
"You know not all the guys on this scene are like me, Chris and Charlie, though, kind of? Right? You do that in front of some of those guys, they'll be like, pulling pieces of your teeth out of venue walls for a week, y'know what I'm saying?"  
  
They climbed out of the van a few minutes later, no equipment of their own to transport inside, and let themselves into the house, waving Pete and Andy off from the step. Joe's father was snoozing contentedly in front of the television when they got in, his mother already in bed. They made their way upstairs quietly; she was a light sleeper and even though he was pretty much allowed to have anyone he wanted stay over whenever he wanted, he felt oddly secretive about having Patrick stay. She'd know in the morning, but then it wouldn't be so weird, because she'd just ask if they'd had a good time at the show and shuffle them off to the kitchen to have breakfast and that would be it. If she saw them now, she would ask about the show and try to make their sleeping arrangements, and that was about to be awkward enough as it was.  
  
Joe closed the door behind them quietly and watched Patrick hover nervously in the middle of his room like he wasn't sure what to do with himself. He always felt embarrassed, thinking about how... not 'cute', Patrick would hate being thought of as 'cute', and 'hot' wasn't right, either, because hot was still Anthony Kiedis wearing a strategically positioned sock and... Joe made a point of not thinking about that mental image in too much detail, and instead forced himself to ask:  
  
"So, like... where do you want to sleep?"  
  
Patrick blinked and shrugged, adjusting his glasses. "I don't mind."  
  
Helpful. "Like... I have a sleeping bag if you want, dude. Or..." he shrugged casually and picked up a He-Man action figure standing on the bookshelf next to him, for something to fiddle with, "y'know... If you want you can sleep there..." He waved the toy in the direction of the bed.  
  
"Well, I mean, last time I stayed over I slept on the floor, so, I mean..."  
  
"Last time was _before_ , dude."  
  
Patrick grinned self-consciously at that. "Yeah." He paused and chewed his lip for a moment. "There doesn't seem much point getting out a sleeping bag when we're just going to be, y'know: sleeping."  
  
"I figured that was like, exactly the point of a sleeping bag, but whatever, dude," Joe replied, sitting down on his bed and grinning at him as he put down the action figure on the cabinet.  
  
Patrick tapped him on the head, but he was smirking affectionately. "Jackass. Just... okay." He took off his jacket and folded it up before bunching it into a ball in his hands. "We can both sleep here. If you want. But, y'know: we're just going to sleep, right?"  
  
"Yeah! Yeah, totally... I mean... it's going to be kind of squished, but yeah. Cool, dude. Whatever."   
  
Patrick was oddly matter of fact about getting ready for bed. He unlaced his sneakers, folded his jeans and put them on top of his shoes and then sat on the bed and waited for Joe to be ready. Joe's idea of getting ready was stuffing his t-shirt and jeans in the laundry basket.  
  
"Aren't you kind of going to be warm wearing your shirt?" he asked, climbing under the covers and waiting for Patrick to crawl in beside him.  
  
"No," Patrick insisted quickly, laying down and shrugging the comforter over his shoulders.   
  
Joe didn't dare ask again; he seemed pretty certain. Instead, he climbed back out of bed to get the light, and then stumbled back across the room, nearly tripping over Patrick's sneakers. Patrick giggled at him as he climbed over the blankets and settled back down, tucking one arm around him before he was even really comfortable. Joe tried not to show how self-conscious he felt as he tucked his own arm around Patrick, because this was really kind of weird. He was in bed, with his boyfriend, with his mom in the next room, his brother across the hall and his dad downstairs. Patrick may have been wearing a shirt, but Joe wasn't. Joe was _mostly naked_ and in bed with his boyfriend in his parents' house. And actually, that was even more weird.  
  
"You okay?" Patrick asked quietly.  
  
"Yeah." Joe kissed him to prove it. Mostly to himself.  
  
"You sure you're not freaking out?"  
  
"No, dude, I promise, I'm cool." In fact, it was an outright lie.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Okay, honestly, I feel like my cat just sat up and asked me the time, but apart from that, I'm like, totally cool, dude."  
  
"Good." Patrick shifted so they were pressed more closely together and nuzzled into his neck. "Go to sleep."  
  
Joe wasn't sure there was any way he could go to sleep, because that would mean waking up and waking up in this position was going to be awkward to say the least. Especially if Patrick continued to insist on tangling their legs together and make contented humming noises. There were already parts of him wondering why the hell nothing was going on.  
  
Joe took a deep breath and prepared himself for a very restless night.  
  
He really hadn't thought this idea through.


	7. Knocking Boots in the Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe saw him first.

**The World's Not Waiting (For Joe Trohman to Stop Being a Pussy and Start Going For What He Wants)**  
 _Part Seven: Knocking Boots in the Back  
  
"Am I more than you bargained for yet?"_  
  
  
  
 **2001.**  
  
Some time during the night Joe must have managed to fall asleep, because it was 4.37am when he woke again to find Patrick fidgeting and rolling over. Joe was backed against the wall in a way he didn't remember being when he was last awake, and Patrick was settling with his back to Joe's chest, sighing.  
  
"You okay?" he mumbled into the back of Patrick's neck, curling around him a little more and wrapping his arm across Patrick's stomach; the other was tucked under the pillows, which was pretty much the only way of putting it without one of them laying on it.  
  
"Fine. Go back to sleep," Patrick ordered, but he sounded like he was grinning.  
  
Joe found himself humming contentedly as he nuzzled back down against the back of Patrick's neck and did as he was told. This was actually kind of nice.  
  
When he next woke, it was daylight outside, and Patrick had shifted again, back to facing him. There were greenish-blue eyes gazing at him, maybe six inches away across the pillow and a hand tentatively stroking at his ribs.  
  
Sleepily, he smiled and tried to pull him closer, mumbling, "Hi," and fully intending to go back to sleep.  
  
Patrick responded by grinning bashfully and pulling back. "Yeah, bad idea right now. Sorry."  
  
In his drowsy state, it took a couple of moments and a half-hearted fumble to realise what Patrick was referring to. _Oh. OH._ That really wasn't a bad thing, as far as he was concerned, and he demonstrated this by pulling him closer more insistently and kissing him despite the way Patrick scrunched up his nose and pretended to resist. He wasn't nearly as nervous as he had been the day before. Perhaps it was because he'd _been there_ and _done that_ (all of once) or because he was half-asleep, still, and the subject hadn't been broached so mechanically, but it was only a few minutes before Patrick was murmuring something inaudible into his shoulder with Joe's hand inside his boxers.  
  
Unfortunately, it was at precisely that moment that Joe's mom walked in.  
  
In the space of half a second, Patrick had dived under the covers and curled into a cursing, mortified ball, Joe had sat up and almost shrieked "MOM! GET OUT!" and his mother had shielded her eyes with a hand and exclaimed, "Good God! _Joseph_!"  
  
She ducked back outside, pulling the door ajar and almost clamouring for something to say, which was bad enough because his mother was never, ever at a loss for words. "Well. Um, sweetie... I just wanted to wake you up and say I'm taking Samuel to Grandma's house if you wanted to come, because Hannah and Joel are staying for the week. I guess you're... I guess you won't be wanting to come."  
  
Joe cringed; he suspected _that_ was something he was never going to be capable of again.  
  
"I'll... We'll have a talk later, honey." There was a pause, and then a painfully cheerful shooting down of his desperate hope that she had at least not seen who was in the bed with him. "Patrick, sweetheart, what would you like for breakfast?"  
  
"Um. I'm... fine..." Patrick's slightly strangled-sounding voice called from beneath the comforter.  
  
"Well, you come on downstairs and we'll see what we have, honey."  
  
She closed the door and retreated.  
  
Joe sat staring blankly at his newly closed bedroom door and waited for Patrick to come out of hiding. He was still there several moments later and when Joe finally pulled the blanket down to look at him, he looked like he might actually cry.  
  
\---  
  
Patrick kept trying to wrench his fingers free of Joe's as they walked downstairs and headed for the kitchen, but Joe wasn't going to let him. Sam was playing with the dog in the yard, and Joe kind of had a point to make.  
  
His mother smiled as they walked in, although it was slightly tense; not angry, just unsettled. The way she'd looked when the dog had needed an operation and she'd tried to tell Sam everything was fine. Fortunately for the dog, she was right.  
  
"Good morning," she said cheerily, and stopped in the middle of the kitchen, cereal boxes in hand as she moved between the cupboard and the table. Her eyes were fixed slightly wide as she gazed at their hands.   
  
Joe held on tighter.  
  
"I'm sorry about this morning, I really should try to remember that Joey isn't a little boy any more," she said, breaking into a still unsettled smile. "What would you like to eat?"  
  
Shoving Patrick lightly in the direction of the table, Joe shrugged and sat down. "Can I get a lock on my door?"  
  
"No, honey. If you want waffles I can make those for you."  
  
"But, mom – "  
  
"Joe, we'll talk about this later, okay, sweetie?" she told him, giving him a pointed but not reprimanding look.  
  
"We're actually, like, _dating_ , you know..."  
  
Patrick bit his lip hard enough to hurt.  
  
"Well, I should hope so!" she laughed.  
  
Patrick rested one elbow on the table and hid his face behind his hand. He looked less like he wanted to cry and a lot more like he wanted to slit his wrists with a butter knife.  
  
"Are you going to kind of like, freak out at dinner?" Joe asked her suspiciously, because right now he had a witness to back him up if she promised not to.  
  
At the end of the table, she stopped stirring her coffee and looked at him for several long moments before grasping his chin and forcing him to look at her. "Don't you dare think I'm angry with you."  
  
" _Mom_."  
  
She let him go and wrapped an arm around him, stroking his hair. "I am not angry with you. Shocked, a little; unprepared, yes. Not angry, sweetheart. I don't care if you and Sam both turn out that way – as long as my baby boys are happy."  
  
"Yeah, mom, whatever..." Joe grunted, trying to push her away, because this was almost as embarrassing as being caught in the first place. Except then she walked around the table to crush Patrick in a hug and gave him a speech about what a nice boy he was.  
  
Joe had genuinely never seen him turn quite that colour before.  
  
"Mom, you're like, embarrassing him to death." _If he dumps me because you humiliated him I'm, like, going to tell grandpa I'm a fairy and run off to Canada and leave you to deal with it._  
  
Luckily for everyone, his mother took the rather unavoidable hint and let go, patting Patrick's face fondly.  
  
"No, I have to say, I'm glad you picked this one. Andrew is lovely boy, but too old, and –"  
  
"He's like my _brother_ , mom!"  
  
"Luke... is... not the brightest child you ever brought home, and Peter.... Well. The less said, honestly."  
  
"Mom, _seriously_!"  
  
Patrick was actually starting to look a little bit smug. Joe thought that might be worse than suicidal.  
  
"Patrick's a nice boy," she said again, patting the top of his head. "But if I catch him doing that to my little boy again before he turns seventeen I'll be chasing him out of my house with a rolling pin."  
  
\---  
  
Patrick had long since left to get changed for work when Joe's father came home. His mother didn't leave a beat between, "Hello, darling, how was your day?" and "Joey has some news."  
  
Joe balked at her. "Right now?"  
  
"Now is good, sweetie," she told him with a wry smile.  
  
"Did you finally get a job, you lazy little rat?" his father teased, pinching his ear. He knew what the answer would be. Joe had an allowance and no intention or working for cash while he was being given it for half-heartedly pushing the vacuum around his bedroom and having water fights with Sam in the guise of washing his parents' cars once a month.  
  
"No..." Joe shrugged, focusing on twisting his glass of soda on the table top.  
  
His father folded his hands on the table and looked at him. "Were you arrested?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Oh. Then I guess it must've been those little green men in your room, again..."  
  
Joe rolled his eyes at the childhood joke (he'd once been convinced he was abducted by aliens when he was six). "Not green ones."  
  
"Oh, sorry – I know, I know – they were grey, weren't they, Mulder?"  
  
"Honey, behave," Joe's mom scolded, kissing her husband on top the head and swiping at his shoulder with her oven mitt. "He's serious."  
  
 _No_ , you're _serious. I just, like, seriously want to get the fuck out._  
  
"Alright, son," he said, deliberately humouring his wife by being over-solemn. "Break the news."  
  
Joe took a deep breath and shrugged. "I'm like... gayorwhatever."  
  
"Really? You seem in a horrible mood."  
  
"DAD!"  
  
His father gave a great chuckle. "I thought he had _new_ news!"  
  
Joe and his mother exchanged bewildered looks.  
  
"What? He's a handsome boy – even if I says so myself. Nearly seventeen years old. Never even talked about one girl. Of course he is. I just figured it was like the voluminous mole on your sister's chin and we just never mentioned it."  
  
Joe folded his arms on the table and buried his head in them. Awesome. Now his father thought he was flaming, and apparently had done for some time.  
  
"Oh, Boy," his father's voice said, as a hand ruffled his hair. "Come on, sit up. Enough of this gloominess. Why am I hearing this today, anyway? Not that I mind – it has to be better than hearing about your aunt's latest health complaint – but we've gone seventeen obvious years without talking about this; what's special about today?"  
  
Joe's mother raised her eyebrows and smiled in a way that said, "You tell him or I will."  
  
Actually, Joe would have been happy with the latter.  
  
"Ikindoflikestarteddatingsomeonebasically."  
  
"Ohhh," his father nodded wisely, accepting his plate with a smile and pat on the hip for his wife. "It's not that strange boy with the teeth, is it? I mean, I try to be a liberal parent but, oy."  
  
"Ew, _dad_ , no!"  
  
"Honey, you've met Patrick, haven't you?"  
  
"Patrick? Patrick... Which one's Patrick?"  
  
"Nice boy; red hair, very polite."  
  
"Red hair...? Oh! The thing in the, um," he gestured vaguely, "in the eyebrow and always in the blue jacket?" He seemed to think about this for a moment. " _Patrick_? Joe, son, are you  _sure_? He's very... eh." His father picked up a fork and waved it ambiguously.  
  
"He's what?" Joe demanded indignantly. Patrick was pure, thoroughbred awesome, and he wasn't going to hear any different, even from his own dad.  
  
"Weeeell, he's so quiet. And not the _best_ looking boy you know..."  
  
"He's fucking beautiful!"  
  
The moment he said it, before his mother had even smacked him on the back of the head for cursing at his father, Joe winced. _You are such a fucking chick. That was like, so totally fucking lame. I'm ashamed of you, dude._  
  
His father was just amused, "Beautiful, is he? Maybe I should pay more attention in future. See what this 'Patrick' is like."  
  
"Maybe you should, honey. They're... _at a certain stage_..."  
  
" _Mom_ , this is not cool!"  
  
"Oh. Oh, _really_?" Suddenly, Joe's father sounded slightly less comfortable. "You know, boy, I don't think I can ever forgive you. You put me through the entire birds and the bees for nothing – do know how uncomfortable that is for a parent?" He shuddered comically.  
  
"Not nearly as uncomfortable as walking into a bedroom in the morning to find – "  
  
"MOM!"  
  
"- your eldest child in his birthday suit – "  
  
"I had shorts on!"  
  
"Somebody didn't."  
  
"He did! And a shirt."  
  
His mother looked at him dubiously.  
  
"Mom, he _did_!"  
  
"Well, either way: I think in future it would be best if he sleeps in the guestroom, when he stays."  
  
"No!"  
  
"Don't argue, son, your mother's right."  
  
"What kind of parents would we be if we just let you get up to goodness knows what under our roof?"  
  
"You let me like, go on tour with five dudes you don't even know, and you didn't get mad when I got wasted, but you won't let my boyfriend sleep in my room?"  
  
He would have felt weird about using the word 'boyfriend' out loud for the first time, and in front of his parents, if he wasn't too busy feeling affronted that they weren't going to trust them to be in the same room any more. Even if he had given them a very valid reason for it.  
  
"Honey, you may be our child, but Patrick is not and what would his mother think if she knew we were letting you sleep in the same bed?"  
  
Joe's eyes widened as he remembered how panicked Patrick would get at the thought of his mother finding out about them. "Mom, you can't tell her. He's totally like, freaked out thinking she'll be mad. Don't tell her."  
  
"Tell her?" she echoed, pinching his face affectionately. "And confess that my boy is up to no good with her child? Oh no. You can drop yourself in that one."  
  
\---  
  
Patrick refused to go anywhere near the Trohman house for three weeks afterward. As soon as Joe persuaded him to, his mother pounced.  
  
"Patrick, you'll be here for eleven on Saturday, right, honey?"  
  
Patrick looked at her, and then at Joe and then at her again and mumbled, "Um. I will?"  
  
"Mom, don't."  
  
"Pish. Don't be a child!" she warned playfully. "Saturday. We have a family meal at his grandmother's house every year for the boys' birthdays."  
  
"Oh..."  
  
"And it's all the family, so Richard and I think it would be nice if you came along. It's tradition."  
  
"Tradition?!" Joe repeated, mortified. "How is it tradition? There's only me and Sam and Sam's twelve!"  
  
"I don't know," his mother told him, with a put upon sigh, "anyone would think you didn't want the family to meet Patrick."  
  
"I don't!"   
  
Patrick gave him an offended look.  
  
"Dude. You don't want to meet them, trust me. My grandpa's like, full-on batshit crazy."  
  
"Joseph!"  
  
"What? It's true."  
  
"Explains a lot," Patrick muttered, prodding him in the arm with a little grin. "I guess I'll switch my shift."  
  
\---  
  
Joe was actually nervous when Saturday came, not sure whether he was more afraid that Patrick would hate his family and quit while he was ahead, or that his grandparents would figure out why they were being introduced to some kid from his band and freak out (he'd bargained with his mother that she wouldn't make him come out on his birthday in case it all went wrong if he promised he'd do it by himself when he was ready).  
  
He lay in bed for a few minutes after his mom called him, wondering if he should call Patrick and tell him he didn't have to come. He hadn't been able to decide whether he would have been comfortable having Patrick meet his extended family if Patrick had been a girl. It would obviously have been easier, but at least if they figured it out maybe his grandpa would stop elbowing him and winking every time a pretty woman was on TV because that was just plain cringe inducing.   
  
The thing was, Joe thought that he and Patrick were quite serious. They hadn't really done much since Joe's mother walked in on them, mostly out of sheer mortification, but they had actively marked their one-month 'anniversary' by shunning one of Pete's shows and going to the movies to see _Planet of the Apes_ downtown. It was a safe choice, really, because there was no way either of them were going to want to make out in the back row to a bunch of _monkey people_. They did walk down the lakefront path on the Drive, though, and Joe at least felt quite grown up. This was, after all, the kind of thing _adults_ did on dates on TV. They even kept hold of each other's hands walking past one couple, which may just have been the bravest thing Joe had ever done. He was quite convinced one of them would jump up and yell, "HOMOS!" and try to drown them or something.  
  
Thankfully, they weren't queerbashed and got to spend the time before Patrick had to get home to meet curfew sitting on the lake wall (it was too busy on the beaches) just hanging out and literally enjoying each other's company. They usually spent their time with the others, or actually occupied with writing music or playing computer games, but just sitting around talking (without it being a fight over which was better, _Uncle Buck_ or _Home Alone_ ) was surprisingly enjoyable. Joe made a mental note to do this kind of thing more often, if he could orchestrate it without Patrick thinking he was a sappy chick.  
  
Laying in his bed, Joe came to the conclusion that had Patrick been a girl, he would definitely have been proud to show everyone his girlfriend. And what the hell? Why shouldn't he be proud of a dude? Screw it.  
  
He flung back the covers and headed for the shower, actually looking forward to Patrick arriving for the first time in three days.  
  
When Patrick did show up, fifteen minutes early, Joe made a point of kissing him right there in the hall to see if he had the nerve. It was all going fine until they were interrupted by a shrill yell from the top of the stairs and Sam careered past them, wailing, "Mooom!"  
  
Joe did the safest thing, and took Patrick to wait in his bedroom until his brother had been suitably calmed, which also allowed Patrick to hand over his present. Which turned out not to be a single present at all, but a box of smaller things, including tickets to see Interpol, some multicoloured (and suspiciously rainbow-like) picks and a mix CD, amongst other things. Joe was flabbergasted. He was going to have to make a big deal at Chanukah, now.  
  
"I, um," Patrick began, pushing his glasses up his nose and not looking at him as they broke away from a 'thank you' kiss, "I was going to give you something else later."  
  
"Dude – there's more? Are you crazy? This is like, a ton of stuff already, dude... You didn't have to do that."  
  
"I know," Patrick told him lightly, still not lifting his eyes from somewhere around Joe's navel, "it's not exactly going to cost anything, though."  
  
Joe spent the next hour – or at least until they arrived at his grandparents – wondering what the hell else Patrick may have got him. The reason he stopped was that his father, who had spent the morning insisting that Joe was far too old for birthday presents, now, called him back as they approached the door and tossed him what Joe assumed were his car keys. But his father's keys didn't have a keyring with Joe's name on them.  
  
Joe stopped and stared. Then looked at Patrick in shock, as if Patrick was in some way in on this, then back at his father who pointed to the car sitting behind his grandparents' in the driveway. He'd assumed it belonged to his aunt and hadn't really paid it any attention.  
  
He managed to choke out a disbelieving, "Whuh?"   
  
"Happy birthday, honey," his mother said, kissing his cheek and smoothing his hair. "Don't crash this one, please."  
  
Patrick gave him an alarmed look but Joe was far too excited to explain. The twenty minutes until lunch were spent sitting in the vehicle looking for all the secret storage pockets and revving the engine until his grandmother came outside and told them to be quiet. Which gave Joe the opportunity to broach a slightly awkward subject.  
  
"Um. Patrick?"  
  
Patrick looked up from where he was flicking through the manual he had found in the glove compartment and grinned, "Yup?"  
  
"Can we, like, talk for a second?"  
  
The manual slapped shut. "Um, yeah. Yeah, sure."  
  
"This is kind of like, um... kind of awkward, dude..."  
  
Patrick nodded slowly, listening and picking at the corner of the manual in his hands.  
  
"So, basically, my grandparents kind of like don't know about me yet, and – "  
  
"Oh – oh, dude, that's cool, I mean – I won't say anything – " Patrick started, hurriedly, his cheeks reddening. "I get that it's difficult and stuff so I don't – "  
  
"Woah, what?" Joe blinked at him and snatched up his hand. "Dude. Like, totally the opposite – I was just gonna ask if I could, kind of like... tell them about us. Like, while you're here. I just... I don't want you to be embarrassed or whatever, basically, 'cause I know, like... my mom already made you feel pretty bad."  
  
Patrick was just staring at him.  
  
"If, like, if you're not cool with it, dude, I can wait until some time when you're not here, but I just kind of like, wanted to introduce you properly, or something, basically..." Joe was starting to feel like an idiot for asking, because Patrick was still just gazing at him. "Dude?"  
  
"You... I mean, y'know: you seriously want to?" Patrick asked, as if he thought this was all some kind of joke.  
  
"Well, like. Yeah. I mean... my mom and dad know. Sam knows. Our friends know..."  
  
"But grandparents can be kind of, _y'know_..."  
  
Joe blushed, because it was absolutely true. "Yeah, dude, I know, but I figure, like... if they meet you and stuff they can't _not_ like you, so..."  
  
Patrick didn't seem to know what to say, he just stared down at their hands.  
  
"It's like, it's cool if you don't want me to, dude – I mean, that's why I _asked_ , basically."  
  
"Oh – no, dude, seriously, it's not that at all, y'know? It's just like. Wow. I mean, cool 'wow', not bad 'wow'."  
  
"So... I can?"  
  
Patrick took a deep breath and expelled it sharply, before tugging the hand already in his, so that Joe leaned closer. "Your grandpa doesn't have a gun or anything, right?"  
  
Joe laughed and shook his head. "He might go for you with his cane, though, dude. But he's pretty slow, these days..."  
  
Grinning, Patrick kissed him quickly on the lips and said, "Okay. Okay, let's do this."  
  
\---  
  
"Is this your mom's mom or - ?" Andy asked, sipping spilled soda from the rim of his can of Mountain Dew.  
  
"His _dad's_ mom," Patrick informed him with a significant look.  
  
Andy smirked as he watched Joe elbow his boyfriend while he was perched on Patrick's knee and half-balanced on a disconcertingly crooked plastic chair. "I like, swear to God, dude, I thought it was a prank or something. She just put down her fork, and goes to like, this dresser cabinet thing that's been in my dad's family since like... some dinosaur carved it with a rock or something, basically, and comes back with this little box and puts it in front of him – "  
  
"And I'm like, 'Oh, that's nice. A gift. Apparently she likes me.' Basically thinking it's going to be y'know: those sugared almonds you get at weddings and crap..."  
  
"The look on his _face_ , dude!"  
  
"Yeah? And what about the look on _yours_?"  
  
"So, what was in the box?" Andy asked curiously, strapping down the cover of his snare.  
  
Patrick blushed and glanced at Joe. "Um..." he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out the pale blue cardboard box. He just held it for a minute, like he wasn't sure whether he actually even wanted to show Andy what it was; like it was special and private. Then he just abruptly held out the box and let him find out for himself.  
  
Andy looked at Joe for a minute, almost as if he was asking permission to look inside. Joe just shrugged and leaned a little to prop his chin on the top of Patrick's head because today had been a day of firsts and right now he just didn't care if someone might walk in. In fact, he didn't much care if they cared, either.   
  
"Woah," Andy breathed, pulling the chain and carefully crafted Star of David from its casing. "Is this _solid_ gold?"  
  
Joe stared at him dully. "Dude, please. We're Jewish."  
  
Patrick laughed in his ear.  
  
"It's kind of old. She had a brother like, our age... died in the war. Used to belong to him, or something..."  
  
"Well, wow," Andy laughed with a hint of incredulity as he carefully laid it back in its box and refitted the lid. "Is she trying to give you a hint about conversion or something, man?"  
  
"Deuteronomy, 10:19, dude: you shall love the convert."  
  
Patrick looked up at him, eyes wide.   
  
"She like, made me read it while you were talking to grandpa, dude. I don't kind of like have the whole thing memorised," Joe shrugged.  
  
"When they said 'love the convert' I don't think they meant in a physical sense. Plus: hell is going to freeze over before I convert to anything."  
  
Tilting his head, Andy pulled a chair nearer and sat down. He was always interested in this stuff, "I don't want to make you guys feel weird or anything, but... the fact Patrick's a _dude_ doesn't figure with Grandma Trohman?"  
  
"They're batshit crazy, dude. It's like, the parts they want to listen to, they listen to. And the rest, like... it's negotiable."  
  
"They seemed pretty cool about it," Patrick admitted, pocketing the box and wrapping both his arms around Joe's waist.   
  
Joe shrugged with an awkward grin, "Helped that it was some dude they think is like, pretty respectable or something. Fucked if I know _why_ they think that, though."  
  
Laughing affectionately at them, Andy stood up and picked up two of his drum cases. "Did you kids want a ride?"  
  
"Huh?!"  
  
Andy stared at them expectantly before repeating himself. "Do you - ? Oh. No, I meant do you want a ride _home_. Geez..."  
  
"Dude. I have _a fucking car_ , now!" Joe grinned, standing up and jangling his keys.  
  
"You're not going to total this one, are you?"  
  
"I wish people would stop asking that!"   
  
"Why _do_ people keep asking you that?" Patrick asked suspiciously, and Joe just knew he'd refuse to get in a car with him ever again if he didn't play his cards right. Andy tore any cards he may have had into tiny pieces of confetti before Joe had even thought up a better excuse.  
  
"Because he left the brake off and put his mom's car in the middle of traffic. By itself. A week after he passed his test."  
  
Blushing furiously, Joe thumped Andy on the arm as he grabbed one of the other drums to help carry it outside to the van. "You're an asshole."  
  
"I wouldn't be a proper big brother if I didn't embarrass the hell out of you once in a while," Andy pointed out, kicking him lightly in the ass as they moved toward the door. "But it was being an idiot that caused the trouble – not bad driving. I think you're pretty safe with our little Number One Fan, here, just so long as you're not planning on parking up someplace close to traffic and/or a cliff or something..."  
  
Patrick's only response was to turn a disconcerting shade of red.  
  
An hour later, sitting in a parking lot beside a park on the Winnetka shoreline, Joe was starting to understand why. It was dark, because they were away from the road, facing the thin line of trees above the boatclub and out over the lake; and they had just climbed between the seats to settle in the back.   
  
It seemed pretty much the done thing, given the circumstances, and almost impossible to find a comfortable position to make out in with an eight inch gap between their seats. The first thing they discovered was that even as short as they both were, the back seat of a car was not a comfortable place to be practically horizontal. There were bits of plastic digging in Joe's back and his head was at an awkward angle, plus, there was a deceptively heavy little dude sitting directly on his hips and making it very difficult not to do something incredibly embarrassing. Not that Joe was going to complain; if anything he was re-evaluating Anthony Kiedis' rank in his scale of Hot because Patrick's bangs were tickling his face and his mouth tasted of Coke and peppermint gum and the skin under his t-shirt was hot and warm and far more exciting even than a dude with a sock on his dick climbing out of Joe's underwear drawer.  
  
Joe felt like he should have been embarrassed when Patrick gasped a quiet laugh and shifted against him deliberately when it became clear exactly how exciting Joe was finding this, but he wasn't. Nervous beyond words, because hell, they were in a parking lot less than a mile from Joe's front door and who knew who could drive up and catch them? But not embarrassed.   
  
"Joe?" Patrick whispered, pulling back and undoing the button on Joe's shorts.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I have something to give you, now."  
  
 _Now? Are you kidding me?!_ "Can it wait, dude? I mean... we're kind of busy..."  
  
Laughing nervously, Patrick pulled right back and caught the zipper on Joe's pants. "Yeah, exactly... I mean, this isn't going to be gift-wrapped or anything, man..."  
  
"What?"  
  
Patrick looked so self-conscious that Joe reached out and tried to tug him closer, into a comforting cuddle, but Patrick just caught his hand and took a deep breath. "I figured that, y'know... seeing as it's your birthday and stuff, maybe it would be cool if I sort of... um..." He stopped and laughed breathily, pushing the hair out of his eyes.  
  
Joe wasn't an idiot; he had the general gist of where this was headed, but he wasn't entirely sure exactly how _much_ Patrick was offering, he just knew that there wasn't a whole lot he was prepared to do in the back of his car, in a parking lot, when he was 110% sure that with his luck a patrol car was going to drive up and result them both having criminal records. "Um..."  
  
"I just mean, like, y'know: I wanted to do something _special_ , maybe and... Y'know, I guess this was a bad idea, so... yeah."  
  
"Dude, wait – I don't like, _get it_ ," Joe told him quickly, sitting up and taking a handful of t-shirt because part of him was sure Patrick was on the verge of running out on him. "What were you gonna do?"  
  
Patrick floundered for a minute, fiddling with the cargo pocket above the knee of Joe's shorts, and then finally blurted, "I was just going to, I dunno... _blow you_ or whatever. But I mean, you're right, dude, this is like – "  
  
"Patrick, I didn't even say anything..."  
  
"No, but you looked petrified, man."  
  
"That's 'cause, like... I _am_ , dude. I just kind of like... I want to do this. Seriously. But I just like... I dunno if now is good."  
  
"Well, can you think of a better place, right now?" Patrick demanded, sounding wounded.  
  
"I don't even mean like that, dude. I mean, it just seems like a pretty big deal, and I kind of... like... I know it's lame and everything, but I just don't think I'm ready to deal with that level of intense..."  
  
The quiet, "Oh," Patrick murmured scared Joe half to death because he was pretty sure this was not what he'd wanted to hear when trying to make a grand gesture like that.  
  
"Dude, I do really like you and everything – I just like, _introduced you to my family_ , so, like... I mean, that proves it, right? And it's not that I don't, like, think you're totally, _totally_ hot or whatever, I just – " _know I couldn't do it back_ "- want to wait a while or something... Is that... I mean, are we okay?"  
  
Patrick nodded violently without saying anything.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Um... yeah, dude."  
  
"You don't really, like... seem too okay."  
  
"I'm good, seriously," Patrick promised, shifting nearer and kissing him to prove some kind of point. "I was actually, uh..." he chuckled awkwardly, "I was actually pretty much freaking out myself."  
  
Joe stared at him. "Seriously?"  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
"But you were like, still going to...?"  
  
Patrick just shrugged and nodded. "It's your seventeenth birthday, dude. It seemed kind of... I dunno. Just pretty much the coolest thing I could give you, I guess."  
  
"That's like..." Joe shook his head in disbelief. "That's just, like..." he ducked forward and kissed him quickly on the lips, "the most awesome thing ever, dude..."  
  
"Not really..."  
  
"Seriously, dude, it is. I have the best boyfriend ever, or something."  
  
Patrick just laughed and buried his face in Joe's neck, mumbling, "Let's just go home."  
  
"You're still okay to stay over and stuff?" Joe asked uncertainly, because it would be pretty weird having him sleep in a separate room. He'd stayed at Patrick's a couple of times in the past few weeks and his family all had the good courtesy to knock and no one had disturbed them at any point anyway so sleeping in Patrick's bed hadn't been a problem. Or actually that eventful.  
  
"Yeah, sure, and I mean – my mom'd kill me if I crawled in this late."  
  
They stopped at the top of the stairs – the house already dark and quiet – for a quick kiss goodnight before they settled into their respective rooms, but it was just as Joe was going to close his bedroom door that Patrick whispered across the hall, "Joe!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Your mom knows I'm staying, right?"  
  
Joe blinked. They'd talked about this in the car on the way to his grandparents' – she definitely knew. "Why?"  
  
"Because the bed has no covers or anything."  
  
"Huh?" Joe glanced into his own room, and then did a double take. "Oh. Dude, um..."  
  
Patrick walked over and peered over Joe's shoulder to see the carefully made up camp bed on the floor. He pushed the door open a little more and Joe was almost smacked in the face with a paper luggage tag that seemed to come from nowhere. He grabbed at it and followed the cord up to find it attached to a shiny new bolt.  
  
"Wait – get the light."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Get the light."  
  
They both squinted in the sudden brightness and read in silence the short note attached.  
  
 _This is in exchange for a promise to behave. Love, Mom & Dad._  
  
\---  
  
It was probably clear from the fact the camp bed hadn't been slept in by the next morning, that Joe had a different definition of 'behaving' from his parents.  
  



	8. The Battle's Only Halfway Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe saw him first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **There is minor violence and some homophobia in this chapter** \- you have been warned.

**The World's Not Waiting (For Joe Trohman to Stop Being a Pussy and Start Going For What He Wants)**  
_Part Eight: The Battle's Only Halfway Done  
  
"It's just a matter of time until we're all found out."_  
  
  
  
Walking into homeroom on the first day back at school was weird. In a way, he didn't feel like the same Joe who left for the holidays, back in June. And it wasn't just because he was dating someone, now, or that the person he was dating just so happened to be a dude. It was kind of everything. He actually felt older. Almost a little _too old_ to be here. He might not have been the most popular kid in the school, never really gone to the other kids' parties too much (he was too busy stalking the guys on the Hardcore scene), but he felt like he'd lived more in the last three or four months than anyone else.  
  
How many of them had been on tour, come out, started a band and fallen in love? Just Joe, then? Right. And he hadn't actually _told anyone_ he thought he was probably in love with Patrick, least of all Patrick himself. Because honestly? He knew it would sound totally stupid out loud and Joe was pretty sure he sounded stupid enough already.  
  
He dropped into the seat beside Luke and lolled his head over to look at him. "'Sup, dude?"  
  
Luke drummed his pen on the table and paused before looking back at him, sidelong. "Do I _know you_ , dude?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Your face looks kind of familiar, but... OH WAIT. You're supposed to be my best friend! Hi! How have you been in the last oh, _two or three months_?"  
  
Joe just blinked. It hadn't even occurred to him that he hadn't spoken to – let alone _seen_ – Luke since they finished the spring semester. "Dude – it's not like you called me!"  
  
"I didn't? Not even those messages I left with your mom and your little brother all in the first couple of weeks?"  
  
"You did?"  
  
"Yeah. I did. Oh, and I hear you went on tour with those Arma dudes – but only because my sister's friend has a cousin who is fucking the singer, man. That's real nice."  
  
"Dude... I didn't... I didn't even _think_ about it, dude." _Oh man, because that sounds so much better._  
  
"Nice. Cool." Luke gathered his bag and shoved his pen into the pocket. "I'm gonna just go and sit right over there. Have a nice life."  
  
Joe just sighed and kicked the leg of the chair in front of him. Luke made a point of sitting with Alec all day – it was like they were in fucking elementary school. Joe just couldn't wait for the year to be over.  
  
\---   
He met Patrick at work, that evening. He made his way up to the top floor, where the music section was located, and surprised him by creeping up behind him and pinching his ribs so he squawked loudly. Joe snickered for the first time all day.  
  
"Hey."  
  
Patrick looked around, tugged him closer to the shelves so they were out of line of the CCTV and kissed him on the cheek. "What's the matter?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"You look pissed, dude."  
  
Joe curled his lip a little and shrugged. "School fucking sucks, man."  
  
"And this is news?"  
  
"No, but now Luke's kind of like being a dick..."  
  
"What happened?" Patrick was starting to look worried. He still had the rainbow and hearts stuck to his name tag.  
  
"I kind of forgot him all summer, dude... can't like, blame him or anything. I'd be kind of pissed."  
  
"You've been busy..."  
  
"Yeah, but before we started... y'know... I used to see him all the time."  
  
"So... spend more time with him, maybe?"  
  
"He's pissed at me now..."  
  
"So apologise? Bring him to the DePaul show or something."  
  
"Kind of hard when he's not talking to me."  
  
Patrick sighed and gave him a subtle squeeze with one arm. "Look, I have to get this finished – you want to hang around and I'll take you for juice or cheesecake or something at the JHC, after?"  
  
Joe pouted and nodded. "You rule."  
  
"I know. I also work, so, y'know: working now. SHOO." He shoved Joe gently in the direction of the CDs, jokingly muttering, "Needy bitch."  
  
The prospect of hanging out with his boyfriend was naturally cheering; someone still cared, clearly. And spending twenty minutes browsing the music section wasn't exactly a hardship. He was vaguely aware of Patrick across the store, talking to one of the girls, but when he looked up again to find Patrick heading over to him, the girl in tow, he felt himself begin to blush straight away. Patrick had a very self-satisfied look on his face.  
  
"What?" he asked suspiciously, as they neared him, and put down the Joy Division book he was thumbing through.  
  
"You _know_ him?" the girl asked, looking surprised.  
  
Patrick bit his lip and grinned, putting his arm around Joe's waist while Joe turned slightly red. "This is Joe."  
  
"JOE?! Like, _your_ Joe?!"  
  
"Well, I kind of hope so, otherwise I'm about to get into a whole bunch of trouble..."  
  
"But his hair's different!"  
  
Joe smiled a little bit, rubbing his recently shaved head and feeling like a particularly weird looking fish he'd once seen on a school trip to the aquarium.  
  
"She thinks you're _cute_ ," Patrick told him in a stage whisper.  
  
"What's a blind person doing like, working in a bookstore?"  
  
"Oh my God, your _voice_!" the girl, 'Lizzie' according to the badge on her shirt, squealed at him. Joe winced. That was one of the things that put him off girls.  
  
"I sound like Kaa from The Jungle Book with a head cold, dude. I know."  
  
"Oh my God, he is so adorable!"  
  
"I know." Patrick looked way smug, which was probably a compliment, if Joe thought about it.  
  
" _Kittens_ are adorable, man..." he complained anyway, because he'd had a bad day and he felt petulant. "Are you finished, yet?"  
  
"Yeah, I just have to get my shit together. Mark's on closing today, so I can pretty much run. Wait here and I'll be out in a few minutes."  
  
Joe just nodded and expected the girl to wander off, but she stayed, grinning at him with her head cocked to the side.  
  
"Um... I'm not like, gonna steal stuff if you leave me by myself, y'know..."  
  
"You don't kind of... _look_ gay."  
  
Joe looked down at his frayed jeans and shredded Chucks, and his faded Judas Priest t-shirt and wondered if he was supposed to have become some kind of fashion guru on the day he came out. He really hoped not. "Thanks...?"  
  
"I was just expecting someone kind of... gayer."  
  
Joe kind of looked at her and hoped Patrick was going to be really, really quick.  
  
"So, like, where do you go to school?"  
  
"The Seventh Circle of Hell, dude."  
  
She looked at him blankly and he really couldn't be bothered to explain Dante's Inferno right now, so he just muttered, "New Trier."  
  
"Oh my God, _really_?"  
  
"Yeah, your God: really."  
  
"My boyfriend goes there!"  
  
Joe's heart skipped three beats; he counted. The last thing he needed this early in the year was to be outed at school. Policy of Tolerance meant shit to 90% of high school kids.  
"Oh."  
  
"Yeah... I think he's in your year, if you're in the same as Ricky."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Uh... _Ricky_? Your boyfriend?"  
  
"You mean Patrick. His name's Patrick."  
  
"Oh, I know that, but nobody ever _calls him_ that!"  
  
"We do," he corrected coolly. Ricky was a stupid name.  
  
"So, like... you're in the same year?"  
  
Joe nodded wordlessly.  
  
"That's amazing! It's totally such a small world..."  
  
_Shit... I am like, so, so dead tomorrow._ "What's his name?"  
  
"Bradley Kennedy. He's like - "  
  
"A jock. Like, Tommy Homewood's best friend or something."  
  
"Aww... I guess, yeah. Do you think he's _cute_?"  
  
"Hell. No."  
  
She smiled like she didn't believe him at all. "Oh, okay." She looked over at the staff room door. "I won't tell Ricky."  
  
"Tell him what, that I _don't_ think your boyfriend is hot? Because like, I seriously don't. No offence, dude, but I don't." _He's a boneheaded idiot, basically, I'm just like, way too nice to say that to your face._ "And his name's Patrick."  
  
"He talks about you, like, non-stop, you know."  
  
"Bradley?!"  
  
"Ricky, stupid."  
  
Joe blushed furiously. "Really?"  
  
"Oh my God, _totally_! It's so cute... that picture of you he has in his wallet is just the sweetest thing ever... It's like, he's insanely happy... When I first started here, he was like totally crushing on you. Not that anybody knew that it was you or anything, because, like, you just don't figure it for a guy, you know what I mean? But seriously, one guy was so ready to kick your ass when you blew him out... We wanted to take him out to celebrate and everything, when you got together, but he's edge or whatever you guys call it, so... Carrie is gonna be totally pissed that she missed you."  
  
Suddenly, Joe didn't hate her so much; but he did want to know which picture she was talking about and what happened in this little separate world Patrick seemed to have at work – where he had a different name, different friends and seemed to be the most popular person in the building.  
  
He was glad when Patrick's fingers hooked into his pocket and tugged at him. "C'mon, dude. Let's get cake."  
  
"Cake? Oh my God, are you going to the 'Factory? Can I come with?"  
  
_No!_ Joe looked at him balefully, praying that he wouldn't say 'yes'. He might not hate the girl after all, but he didn't like her _that much_.  
  
"Um. Another time, maybe? Joe's kind of had a sucky day..."  
  
_Thank God_. Joe was so relieved he actually tugged Patrick's hand out of his pocket and squeezed it. Patrick wouldn't let go.  
  
Raising her eyebrows, Lizzie gave Patrick a significant look, "Oh, really? Then I guess I'll leave you two to your date..." She ducked forward and gave Patrick a hug. "See you tomorrow, hon."  
  
Joe was already dragging Patrick towards the escalator.  
  
"You still feeling crappy?" Patrick asked, leading him toward the crossing outside the store.  
  
"That girl's boyfriend goes to my school, dude. Now I'm like, twice as crappy. She's so gonna like, go home and tell him about this gay dude who goes to his school, or something... now school's gonna suck _and_ blow."  
  
"And we both know you're not into that..."  
  
Joe squished his fingers hard.  
  
"I'm sorry," Patrick chuckled, resting his head on Joe's shoulder for a second while they waited for the 'Walk' signal and holding on tighter when Joe tried to free his hand.  
  
"No, but seriously, dude – what if it was you? Your mom doesn't even know..."  
  
Patrick shrugged and studied his Nikes. "I guess I'd have to get used to the idea."  
  
"Huh?" Joe squeaked. _Used to the idea of what?! You kind of have to be pretty used to the idea by now, dude, because you seem pretty used to my hand being in your pants..._  
  
"Of my mom finding out."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"What did you think I meant?"  
  
"Nothing, I just, like... I dunno. I just know I'm getting my ass kicked tomorrow."  
  
Patrick stopped dead in the middle of the road. "What?"  
  
"Her dude is like, second in line for the bonehead throne, man. They're all jerks."  
  
"But they're not going to – "  
  
"I dunno... Maybe I'm just being a pessimist or something, dude, but... yeah. I kind of see this all going bad places."  
  
Patrick immediately tugged him back towards the sidewalk they'd just come from. "C'mon."  
  
"Huh? We're s'posed to be going - "  
  
"I'm gonna talk to Lizzie."  
  
"What?! You can't just... _dude_. You can't just ask her not to tell him, that's like... That'd be so humiliating..."  
  
"And you're just going to walk into school tomorrow ready to get your face smashed?"  
  
"You tell her not to tell him, she's just like, gonna tell him and then make him promise not to say or do anything about it. It's too late, dude."  
  
He could see the weight of this information sinking on to Patrick's shoulders even as they stood there, holding up traffic. He started cursing colourfully as someone honked at them and dragged Joe across to the opposite side by the wrist.  
  
"Okay. Okay, so..." Patrick was doing some quick thinking, Joe knew it – trying to figure out how they could fix this, when really it was all in Bradley Kennedy's hands and nothing they could do would make much difference, "what if you just deny it?"  
  
"I'm not gonna lie about it, dude!"  
  
"But – "  
  
"No! Not advertising it is one thing, man, but like... I'm not gonna full-on pretend I'm not... that's just fucking lame."  
  
"You'd rather get beat on for it?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
The weird thing was, he actually meant it, and he hadn't even known he'd thought that. He'd been terrified of being found out, of getting queerbashed, for long time. Even before he started dating Patrick; like people would look at him and know, would see what he was. But then, everyone that mattered had been awesome about it. If some dick who barely knew who he was made such a fucking big deal out of it, then... yeah, Joe was probably going to get his nose broken, but he'd be the bigger person.  
  
Patrick just stared at him for a minute, and then glanced around them. "I don't want you to get hurt because of me."  
  
"I won't. I'll get hurt because some asshole is like, paranoid that being in the same room as me is gonna make him gay."  
  
"Don't be a smartass."  
  
Joe just shrugged and looked at his sneakers.  
  
There was silence for a few moments, as people walked by them, not really having any idea what was going on, and then Patrick just stepped closer, hooked his arm around Joe's waist and turned him in the direction of the John Hancock Centre. He didn't even pull away when some drunk outside the church called them faggots, he kissed Joe's shoulder instead and flipped the guy off.  
  
Blushing, Joe realised that he had the best taste in dudes _ever_.  
  
\---  
  
It was kind of late when Joe dropped Patrick home. They sat in the courtyard outside the Cheesecake Factory, poking at pieces of cake even though their subject of conversation kind of destroyed both their appetites, until it started to get chilly, then headed back to the car. There was something strangely comforting about driving his boyfriend home with the stereo blaring, both singing along to Patrick's mix CD, totally at ease with each other. Joe had looked over at him as they waited at a junction, watched him belt out the chorus to 'Always', and leaned over unable to resist kissing him on the cheek. The song was an in-joke; they'd embarrassed themselves painfully by singing along to it loudly in the van while they waited for Andy to return from the 7-11, without realising three girls were sitting on a bench across the street, practically wetting themselves with laughter.  
  
Patrick turned to grin at him and Joe had a weird feeling that if it wasn't a school night they would have been staying out long past his curfew.  
  
"You feeling better?" Patrick asked, pulling back slightly from a lingering kiss as they sat parked across the street from his house. His hand was still on the back of Joe's head, stroking comfortingly.  
  
"Guess so," Joe shrugged, pulling him back in for another kiss, because that was way more enjoyable than talking about school and who may or may not try to break his face in the next couple of days.  
  
Patrick wasn't letting him get away with it, though. "Will you call me, tomorrow? Right after you get home?"  
  
"If you want."  
  
"Dude. I want. And I'm serious. I want to know you're okay."  
  
"I'll probably be like... y'know... fine."  
  
"I don't care. Call me."  
  
"You don't care? Dude. Last time I give you a ride."  
  
"Shut up, Joe, I'm serious." He was frowning and indignant and Joe really kind of wanted to drag him out of his seat into his lap, but if anyone was going to be peering out of the window and waiting for their son to come home, it was Patrick's mom.  
  
Instead, he rubbed Patrick's leg affectionately and just nodded, "I know, dude. That's why you're so awesome."  
  
"I wish I wasn't on lates tomorrow," Patrick grumbled back, copying – although his hand didn't just stay on Joe's leg. Which was kind of weird and slightly embarrassing in a suburban street at close to eleven on a school night.  
  
Joe swallowed, and his voice came out in a half-whisper. "Me too." He had a strange feeling that this wasn't about shifts at all.  
  
"Well... it's just like... we have like eight months or something and then it'll all be over anyway. We won't have to worry about school or anything."  
  
"Yeah..." _Except then we have college and I don't even know where you applied to and I basically like, don't want to know because I know you're gonna say kind of like the other side of the country or something._ "Um... I still have to drive home, dude," he added, pointedly looking down at Patrick's hand.  
  
Patrick just laughed and kissed him quickly before reaching for the door. "Call me," he ordered.  
  
Joe just smiled and started the ignition.  
  
\---  
  
He sat in the student parking lot for several long minutes before making his way inside. It felt like every person who passed him was staring, even when they were deep in conversation and paying him no attention at all. All he could think of was how much he wanted to go home. He didn't want to suddenly become the focus of the school – he blended in, he wasn't the kind of kid who stood out and he liked it that way. He had friends in the AV Club and in theory he had Luke, if Luke would even talk to him, now. And that was another thing – he didn't want Luke to find out about Patrick through everyone else gossiping. They'd been friends for years, he deserved to hear it straight.  
  
If they were still going to be friends by the end of the week (hell, the end of the _day_ would be an accomplishment) he was going to have to do some damage control.  
  
He opened the door and jumped out as he saw Luke making his way down the sidewalk toward the school. "Hey! Luke, dude, wait up!"  
  
Luke stopped where he was and reluctantly turned toward him, adjusting his rucksack impatiently.  
  
"Hey," Joe said again, catching up with him. "You got a minute?"  
  
"I had three months if only you'd caught me a while ago," Luke snorted.  
  
"Yeah, look... it's like... it's kind of about that, dude."  
  
Luke didn't do anything but stare at him expectantly, but there were far too many people walking past for Joe to just say it out loud right there and then. It'd definitely end up all over school if he did that.  
  
"After homeroom, what's your first class?"  
  
"English."  
  
"English... right. Can you skip it?"  
  
"You want me to cut class, now? You ignore me all summer, and now you want me to cut class? Are you fucking serious?"  
  
"I need to tell you something. It's like... pretty important."  
  
"Really."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
For a minute, there was silence, then, "Okay. But you seriously better have a fucking amazing excuse, dude."  
  
\---  
  
Later, sitting in the back corner of the library, Joe did his best to break the news gently. This was actually harder than telling his grandparents, because his mom had his back, then, and grandparents were much more easily swayed by good manners and a sweet face. Luke was a basically decent dude, though. Joe thought there was a good chance that he'd be cool with it, at least after he got used to the idea.  
  
"So... okay, you going to actually tell me? Because I'm only cutting one class, so you have like forty five minutes to stop mumbling, man."  
  
"Uh. Yeah, dude, totally... it's just like... y'know: kind of complicated."  
  
"Apparently."  
  
"Okay." He took a deep breath. "Okay... so there's like, a really long story behind all this, but basically, I kind of got caught up spending all my time with somebody else."  
  
"That Wentz asshole?"  
  
"Ye – no. No, dude. Not Pete."  
  
"So who?"  
  
Joe rubbed his forehead with his wrist. "You remember, like... way back last semester we went to Borders and I started talking to that dude who worked there?"  
  
"That weird kid?"  
  
"He's not weird!"  
  
Luke raised his eyebrows and folded his arms. "Touchy."  
  
"...Sorry."  
  
"So, what, you've been hanging out with him. Because he's into the same weird-ass music as you?"  
  
Sighing, Joe shook his head. "We're in a band, dude."  
  
"Nice. What're you called, How To Abandon Your Friends To Hang Out With Cooler Dudes?"  
  
"Wouldn't fit on the flyers."  
  
"Cute."  
  
There was silence.  
  
"Listen, man... this is really kind of complicated. I don't know if you're gonna like, kick off about it or what... I just wanted to be the one to say something before you hear it from everybody else..."  
  
The expression on Luke's face slipped from irritated to apprehensive. "Hear what?"  
  
Joe cleared his throat and scratched at the table. Now he was here, he wasn't sure if he could say it. "I, um..."  
  
" _What_ , dude?"  
  
"Fuck. Look, Patrick, he's like... he's not my friend. Well, I mean, he is. But like... he's not."  
  
It was kind of alarming to see Luke's eyes creep wider and wider in realisation. They almost looked like they were going to fall out. "You're _boning him_ , aren't you?!"  
  
"No! Well. Yeah... kind of. It's like... that's the general theme, basically."  
  
"Holy shit. Holy _shit_."  
  
_Please don't be the only person to be pissed about this, dude. Pleasepleaseplease._  
  
"You're _gay_ , dude?!"  
  
Joe nodded.  
  
"How can you be gay? We talked about girls!"  
  
"Well... yeah. Like, hypothetically. And it was mostly you talking."  
  
"Shit. That's fucked up."  
  
Joe's heart sank; he sucked his lip and scratched more intently at the table. So that was how it was going to be...  
  
"So fucked up, dude... how did I not fucking notice this?"  
  
Joe just looked up at him. He shrugged.  
  
"Why didn't you just tell me, man? And what the fuck is this about gossip? Does somebody know?"  
  
"Patrick works with a girl who's dating Bradley Kennedy. I met her last night. I'm pretty sure she's gonna have told him by now, man. And like, he's not gonna want to be my new best friend or whatever..."  
  
"Kennedy's a dick. So is that Homewood asshole."  
  
All Joe could do was nod. Maybe Luke wasn't going to hate him after all.  
  
"You should have told me, man."  
  
"I guess."  
  
"You're a dick, you know that?"  
  
"Look who's talking."  
  
Luke just smirked and kicked him hard under the table. "You gonna let me meet him?"  
  
\---  
  
"And he didn't freak out?" Patrick asked, and Joe could hear that he was smiling.  
  
"No, he was _really cool_. It was like... he was pretty awesome."  
  
"You gonna dump me for him, now?"  
  
Joe laughed indulgently at Patrick's chuckles. "Nope."  
  
"Good, 'cause even if that Bradley dude doesn't kick your ass for it, I will." There was a pause and then Patrick added, "I'm glad nobody hurt you..."  
  
"Not as glad as I am, dude!"  
  
"I'm serious. I was kind of... y'know: freaking out a little bit in class. I almost ended up with detention for not listening."  
  
"Aw. That's like... that's really sweet, dude."  
  
Patrick's voice was soft as he said, "Well, I really care about you."  
  
"M-me too..."  
  
Joe could barely hear the little rasp of a laugh on the other end of the line over the throbbing in his ears. His heart was racing and his smile was kind of making his face hurt. He didn't even bitch at Sam when he stopped at the top of the stairs, running between the bathroom and his bedroom and made kissy noises.  
  
"Shit – Joe, I have to go. My mom's yelling at me. She wants to call auntie Susan."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"I'll see you at practice tomorrow, right?"  
  
"Yeah. No – wait. No, tomorrow is one of Andy's shows... I don't even remember which one. I just know it's uptown."  
  
"Oh – damn, yeah. Okay. Well, I'll see you there, right?"  
  
"I can pick you up."  
  
"Okay. I have to go."  
  
"Okay, see ya, dude."  
  
But then again, the best laid plans of mice and Joe Trohman generally went all to hell.  
  
\---  
  
From the moment he walked into school the next day, Joe knew that he wasn't being paranoid: people really were staring. He was almost at his locker when he caught the first whisper.  
  
"Fag."  
  
He swallowed, but kept on walking, even though he was starting to panic. He'd been lulled into a false sense of security by Luke's reaction and the fact that no one had really known the day before.  
  
The note on Joe's locker, concisely labelling him, "HOMO!" was something of a wake up call. What happened before his final class was even worse.  
  
\---  
  
Sitting in the hall outside the Principal's office, a wad of tissue pressed to his nose, Bradley Kennedy sulking in a chair four seats down, Joe had never been more glad to see Pete in his life.  
  
"What the fuck happened to you, or whatever, dude?"  
  
Joe just glanced down the hall towards the other student, and stood up, dragging his bag with him. "Doesn't matter."  
  
But Pete was already looking across at Bradley, eyes narrowed.  
  
"C'mon, Pete."  
  
Finally, Pete turned and put his arm around Joe's shoulders and guided him toward the school reception to sign him out and on toward the parking lot.  
  
"Tell me."  
  
"I got into a fight. It's no big deal."  
  
"It is when it's you, kind of. You're not the kind of dude who fights."  
  
"Yeah, well... you don't get like, outed to the whole school every day, dude."  
  
"You're fucking dicking with me!"  
  
"Yeah, dude," Joe shrugged, gesturing to his face, "I'm fucking dicking with you. That's why I have a black eye and a bloody nose and this fucking lump from one of the radiators on the back of my head. I'm totally dicking with you."  
  
"It was that dick sitting in the hall, wasn't it?"  
  
Joe sniffed and dabbed at his nose again. "His girlfriend like, works with Patrick. She told him she met me and that I was dating him... He basically like, made sure everybody knew, dude. I got pissed off and told him where to like, stick his fucking notes and we got into a fight. It's not like he beat the crap out of me just because I'm gay or anything..."  
  
"Like hell he fucking didn't," Pete snapped, unlocking the door to his mom's car and holding it open for Joe to get inside. He carried on as soon as he'd walked around to the driver's side and got in himself. "Bet that fuck was just looking for a fucking excuse, kind of."  
  
"I threw the first punch!"  
  
"Yeah, and I bet that asshole could snap you like a twig, dude! He's twice your fucking size!"  
  
"Yeah, thanks, dude. I kind of like noticed that."  
  
Pete just shook his head and slammed the car into reverse.  
  
Andy took one look at Joe as he walked into the venue and crumpled the bag of chips in his hand. "Who did that?"  
  
"Some fucking closet case in his school, kind of," Pete informed him darkly.  
  
Joe just dropped his head on folded arms against the wall.  
  
"You got queerbashed?!"  
  
"No, I got in a _fight_."  
  
"Same fucking thing!"  
  
"Dude, seriously – no more lectures. Please."  
  
Chris walked in, then, an amp in his arms. He almost dropped it when he saw Joe's face. "Holy fuck."  
  
"Don't even say it, dude. Seriously."  
  
Andy shook his head and slammed open the door into the main bar, returning a couple of minutes later with a bar towel filled with ice. He shoved it into Joe's hand, clearly too livid to say anything more.  
  
"I'm like, hanging out in the cafeteria on campus, and his tutor calls my cell, saying his parents aren't available and he asked for me because he'd been in a fight or whatever. I get there, and he looks like this."  
  
"Where are your mom and dad?" Chris demanded.  
  
"Dad's at work, mom's at home," Joe admitted. _I just don't want mom freaking out and stuff._ "I have to pick up Patrick."  
  
"Yeah, sure, because your car's at school and you have fucking concussion from nearly braining yourself on a radiator, kind of. I'll go get Patrick. You stay here. Jesus..."  
  
Pete was gone before Joe could say anything else.  
  
\---  
  
Joe saw Patrick run in through the stage door from the van, where they'd made him sit and rest until the show started. He was already moving to get out of the vehicle when Patrick reappeared. He stopped dead in front of the van and looked up at Joe through the windshield. Pete had clearly told him what had happened.  
  
"Hey..." Joe mumbled, pushing the door open for him to climb inside.  
  
"I'm going to fucking kill that asshole!"  
  
"Dude, it's not worth it, seriously... I started it."  
  
"What, by being gay?!"  
  
"No, by like, punching him in the mouth."  
  
"Let me see." He was already tugging what was left of the icepack from Joe's face. He looked at it for a minute, grimacing, and then just said, "Pete made it sound worse."  
  
"Like that surprises me, dude. He's such a drama queen."  
  
"I just... I can't even believe this happened. I can't."  
  
"My face can, right now."  
  
Patrick gave him a tender smile and kissed his cheek just below the bruises. "You want me to take you home?"  
  
"How?"  
  
"We can get a taxi or something – don't care... I'll stick around... kiss it better, if you want..."  
  
Joe shook his head, "I don't just wanna like... give in, y'know? I don't want this to ruin my night. Or yours, dude."  
  
For a moment, Patrick frowned a little bit, worrying his lip like he wanted to say something. Just as Joe was about to ask him what, he nodded, "Okay. Whatever you want..." and tucked his arm around him, nuzzling into his shoulder and fiddling with his hand, looking at the bruises along his knuckles.  
  
"I'm _okay_ , dude. I'm not gonna like, break or anything..."  
  
"Can I at least coddle you for tonight? Seriously."  
  
"So long as I don't have to call you 'mom'."  
  
"Yeah. Not really my bag, so much..." Patrick smiled, leaning up to kiss him but bumping his nose slightly.  
  
"Ow."  
  
"Sorry, dude! Sorry, sorry, sorry..."  
  
Joe just kissed him. He was still kissing him when the door was yanked open, and Charlie looked at them for a moment, mumbled, "Deja fucking vu!" and slammed it again. There was a pause and the door reopened. "What the fuck happened to your face?"  
  
\---  
  
Standing in the school parking lot, looking at the letters scored into the paintwork on the hood of his car – the car he'd only had a few days – Joe kind of wished he was on his own. Patrick was going to drive him home, then Andy and the guys were going to drop him off at is own house. He'd be late for curfew, but he insisted his mom would understand, if he explained more or less what happened to his 'best friend'.  
  
But there was no way anyone was going to be able to drive a car with four slashed tyres. He didn't want to put Patrick through the humiliation of driving a car with 'FAG' across the hood, either. He just swallowed and rubbed at his nose when Patrick's fingers slipped through his and held on tightly, but careful not to crush his bruised knuckles.  
  
"He's going to get payback," he said, sounding unnervingly calm and leaning against him comfortingly.  
  
Joe just sighed heavily, and nudged him back toward the van, wondering what he was going to say to his parents.


	9. Kiss Safe Thoughts Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe saw him first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned: boys are boys in this chapter. Some implied violence and we're hitting the mild-R, kids.

**The World's Not Waiting (For Joe Trohman to Stop Being a Pussy and Start Going For What He Wants)**  
 _Part Nine: Kiss Safe Thoughts Goodbye  
  
"Not as eloquent as I may have imagined."_  
  
  
  
  
"You can drop me here, dad, it's cool."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
Joe nodded and pulled his rucksack onto his lap. "Yeah." He reached for the door and took a deep breath.  
  
"Son."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Whatever anyone says, whatever they do..."  
  
Joe looked his father in the eye for the first time in four days. He wasn't saying, 'Don't fight. Don't be suspended again', and Joe knew it. He nodded jerkily. "Thanks, Dad."  
  
"You have your cell?" The brand new cell his parents had insisted on buying him, just in case.  
  
"Yeah." Joe opened the door, ready to climb out.  
  
"Joe?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I love you, son."  
  
Joe curled his lip, playfully and groaned, "Ew. _Dad_! No bonding before school, dude."  
  
"Oh, don't you worry – I'll get you at dinner..."  
  
As he drove off, waving, Joe realised his dad was actually full-blood awesome.  
  
Luke was waiting for him on the corner so he didn't have to walk into school by himself. It meant a lot, considering the potential for guilt by association.  
  
"How're you doing, dude?"  
  
"Not too bad... looking kind of less like a panda, now."  
  
"And yet, still like a beast."  
  
Joe laughed, starting to feel better about the whole thing.  
  
"Okay, so, ground rules: I'm not holding your hand, we don't do flower arranging, I don't care how hot Brad Pitt or George Clooney or Johnny Depp are or... NO. Actually. Johnny Depp I can live with, because, I mean – he's _Johnny Depp_. Oh, and if you _ever_ wear one single item of anything pink, dude, you're on your own."  
  
There were no notes on his locker; maybe a few side-long looks in the halls and one kid gave him a supportive grin before ducking away and looking through his own locker, but no one was tearing him to pieces.  
  
As soon as he got into class, he found out why.  
  
People were talking. Talking about Bradley Kennedy. A couple of people were talking about how much of a dick he was, how it served him right, which was weird, because he figured the split lip Joe had given him wasn't worth talking about five days after it happened. But then, people started looking over at him.  
  
"You're back!"  
  
"...Um... yeah?"  
  
"Did you hear about Brad?" Nikki asked, jumping up from the desk she was perched on.  
  
"Did I hear what, dude?"  
  
"Holy fuck – don't you know?"  
  
One by one, people were crowding around him and he subconsciously began to back away, feeling as though a lynch mob was forming, even though they seemed driven by excitement, rather than murder.  
  
"What the fuck, peeps?" Luke asked, moving up beside him. "What's the deal?"  
  
"Kennedy got his ass kicked Saturday night, man!"  
  
" _What_?"  
  
"Yeah – he was outside his dad's showroom, and he got mugged or something... there we like ten dudes with knives and shit."  
  
"Ten! Don't be a dick – there's no way it was ten. I heard six."  
  
"Yeah, and a guy like that probably wants to pretend he took on like, a fucking platoon of Marines, so I bet it was one kid in a hoodie."  
  
Joe had a dark feeling that they might not be too far from the truth.  
  
\---  
  
Patrick almost fell onto him when Joe opened the door, that evening. He was grinning like a lunatic, and wrapped both his arms around him tightly.  
  
"Hi," he beamed, tilting his chin up to be kissed. They hadn't been allowed to see each other in four days, or speak on the phone, because Joe was grounded. Not for standing up for himself in school but for not coming home, not calling his parents, and not telling them he was suspended for the rest of the week until Thursday morning.  
  
Even so, Joe just pulled back and shut the door.  
  
"It was you, wasn't it?"  
  
Patrick's smile vanished instantly. "What?"  
  
"Bradley, dude. Bradley got his ass kicked Saturday night. It was you, wasn't it?"  
  
There was a slow, heavy sigh and Patrick shook his head, walking up the stairs toward Joe's room.  
  
"Patrick!"  
  
He waited until he was sitting on Joe's bed, his hoodie bunched up in his lap and the door closed behind them, then said, "I didn't actually, _physically_ do anything."  
  
"Aw... _shit_ , dude – you could get into so much trouble for this!"  
  
"I didn't even touch him!"  
  
"So like, you want to tell me who did?"  
  
"Do you seriously not _know_ already?"  
  
Joe huffed out a harsh breath and rubbed his eyes. "Pete."  
  
"And?"  
  
"...not Andy, dude? Andy wouldn't – "  
  
"Oh, yes he would."  
  
"Pete and _Andy_ did that?"  
  
"Pete and Andy, and?"  
  
"Chris?"  
  
"And?"  
  
Blinking, Joe tried to think who else might give enough of a fuck to risk getting arrested on his behalf. He couldn't think of anyone. The only reason he'd thought of Chris was that if Pete was doing it, Chris wouldn't be far behind.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Charlie, dude. _Charlie_."  
  
"Chuck?!"  
  
"Apparently, he has a place in his heart for goofy, gay Jews. Still trying to figure that one out."  
  
Joe swallowed and moved to stand in front of him, not even sure what to say – people had made it sound like Bradley had been beat up pretty bad. He wasn't in school, anyway.  
  
"I just don't... like, how could you _do that_ , dude?"  
  
"What?"  
  
" _Five of you_? On one guy?"  
  
"Four. I didn't touch him. I stayed... _well_ away, believe me."  
  
"But you let everyone else do that? Patrick - "  
  
"Are you insane? How hard did you actually hit your head, dude? He – he... if it was just the fight, maybe, then I could have lived with it – but the... you couldn't see your _face_ , Joe! You couldn't see it when we got to the school and saw your car, like you were gonna _cry_ in front of everyone! He fucking deserved it – and worse. It's not even like they hurt him that bad... not really. They just shoved him around... scared him."  
  
"So why was he not at school?"  
  
"I don't know! Maybe he was embarrassed... maybe he got a longer suspension than you for being a homophobic _dick_."  
  
"Well, you knew where to find him!"  
  
"Lizzie told me – she dumped that fuck the second he heard what he did. She was asking about you, dude – if you were okay."  
  
"I'm fine. I didn't need like, a hit squad or something..."  
  
"I can't believe you're mad at me for this."  
  
"Dude..." Joe sank onto the bed beside him, "I didn't want this... I wanted to kind of like take the high ground or whatever. Just let it go. I just like, shouldn't have hit him at all..."  
  
"You have a right to defend yourself."  
  
"Not when I started it. Not when defending myself means, like... a bunch of dudes kicking his ass for me."  
  
"It wasn't _that bad_ , man."  
  
"What if they went to the cops?"  
  
"He won't."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"And admit he got attacked by four dwarves and the Incredible fucking Hulk? You go tell that to a cop and see what he says!"  
  
"That's not even funny."  
  
"No, but it's true."  
  
Joe shook his head and dropped it into his hands, resting his elbows on his knees.  
  
"We only did it because it was you, dude... no one wanted him to get away with that," Patrick told him softly, fingers brushing at his shoulder.  
  
Joe sighed and fumbled around with one hand, trying to locate his boyfriend's. Patrick wrapped both arms around him instead, moving so one of his legs was draped over Joe's lap and the other tucked behind him and leaned on his shoulder. He ended up wrapped around him like a giant pencil friend.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I'm not apologising for looking out for you, Joe. If he gets back to school and so much as looks at you wrong, I'd take the guys out and really kick his ass this time."  
  
Joe didn't doubt it and he really, really wanted to be flattered that Patrick cared so much and felt so protective of him, but really he just felt kind of embarrassed. Nobody thought he was tough enough to look after himself. It pretty much amounted to humiliation of epic proportions.  
  
"Aw, Joe, seriously – don't look so depressed, c'mon..."  
  
He leaned a little closer to Patrick and let him nuzzle him slightly, kiss his cheek.  
  
"I just feel like a total pussy, now, dude."  
  
Patrick pulled back a little and made Joe turn to look at him. He was frowning, looking totally confused; "What? Why?"  
  
"I dunno," Joe shrugged, "I guess like, because that's how dudes like us are supposed to be and I totally kind of failed to prove otherwise, so my boyfriend got all our friends to do it for me. And that just makes me seriously fucking lame."  
  
For a few moments, Patrick looked speechless. "Joe..."  
  
"You think I'm being a dick about it, I know, but – "  
  
"No, I don't!"  
  
Joe gave him a sceptical look.  
  
"That didn't even occur to me, dude. Not for second. The guys and me did that because we've got your back, not because we didn't think you could. And you'd do that for us, right?"  
  
Joe's shoulders sagged. "If this is like, what happens when I get into fights, I'm not getting into fights at all anymore. Ever, dude."  
  
"Hopefully, you won't have to."  
  
"'Cause I'd totally lose anyway. I guess I'm kinda lucky you're also into girls and stuff, because like, I pretty much am one, right?"  
  
There was a sharp pain to the back of his head as Patrick slapped him, "Shut up. Seriously. If I thought you were a pussy I wouldn't be practically sitting in your lap. And I'm not into girls, I'm into you."  
  
Smiling appreciatively, although not entirely convinced, Joe tried to coax him more squarely onto his lap, but Patrick tugged back and gradually Joe let himself be pulled down on to the bed and wrapped into a tight cuddle. "You're not a girl, okay?" Patrick told him, shifting as best he could with most of Joe's weight on top of him, and then pointedly tucked his legs up and around his hips. "You're _not_ a girl. I mean, I should know, right?"  
  
Joe gave a self-conscious laugh and leaned down to kiss him.  
  
"No, dude, seriously."  
  
"I'm not a girl," he muttered in a monotone.  
  
"What are you?"  
  
"Whipped, apparently."  
  
"Close enough," Patrick snickered, allowing him his kiss and deliberately tightening his legs around him so he didn't have any choice but press closer. It didn't take Freud to get the point.  
  
"You, um... you want to?" Joe asked uncertainly, because he really wasn't sure he was ready, but if that was what Patrick wanted...  
  
"Not with your mom downstairs, dude," Patrick laughed, before sobering abruptly at the look on Joe's face, and adding, "but yeah. Yeah, dude, I do."  
  
It wasn't that Joe didn't want to, it was just the idea made him kind of nervous. It was a lot of pressure, considering the fact that Patrick was pretty clear on what part he wanted to play and this kind of thing wasn't covered in any sex ed class Joe had ever attended. _But it's gotta happen sometime, dude. And if it's gonna happen at all_...  
  
"Joe, we don't have to if – "  
  
He looked down at the boy gazing up at him and clasped a hand over his mouth to shut him up. "Shh. I do."  
  
"Seriously?"  
  
"You don't have to sound so surprised, man..."  
  
"You really...? _Really_?"  
  
"Not like, right now..."  
  
"Well, no – totally."  
  
"But... eventually, yeah."  
  
For a moment, he thought he'd just said entirely the wrong thing – that Patrick didn't mean 'eventually', but more like, 'the first time we can get someplace to ourselves' – but there was a smile creeping across his face.  
  
"Hey, Joe?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I kind of love you, dude."  
  
\---  
  
Andy clearly knew something was going on the moment he walked in. It may have been something to do with the hastily zipped jeans and the pleasant shade of poppy red that Patrick's face had turned as Andy stepped through the basement door. The look on Andy's face, though, was of knowing amusement and Joe felt suddenly very, very naughty. Like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar (which was so much worse than his boyfriend's pants, obviously). They hadn't actually been doing anything too risqué, but now that they knew exactly where they stood, they'd fallen into a prolonged game of chicken – testing to see how far the other would go (or indeed, let them go) and each little creeping progression was making it easier, less scary. If Joe's mom hadn't called them down for dinner the night before, over a week after the whole thing had started, Joe was pretty sure some of the unfinished business from his birthday may have finally come to a conclusion.  
  
"You want me to come back later?" Andy joked, already dropping his bag on the floor and clearly having no intention of leaving them alone again.  
  
Joe just poked him in the leg with his foot and grinned; they wouldn't even have been together if it wasn't for Andy.  
  
\---  
  
With his car still in the shop, having the paintwork fixed, Joe was back to getting rides home from his surrogate sibling. It was actually kind of cool. He hadn't realised that he missed their private hang time, before now, but while he and Patrick were so involved with each other the only time Joe had for Andy and Pete was when they were all out together. It didn't leave much time to catch up or solicit brotherly advice. And Andy already seemed to know.  
  
"You guys are getting kind of serious, huh?" he asked, the moment they were clear of the Chevrolet parked ahead of them along the sidewalk.  
  
The only response Joe gave was a smirk and a shrug. Andy was pretty good at reading between the lines anyway.  
  
"Is that _serious_ , serious?"  
  
"Like, 'whole lot of fun' serious."  
  
"Fun, huh? Does that mean - ?"  
  
"Not yet, dude... but we're like... kind of working on it."  
  
"Working pretty hard judging on what I saw..."  
  
The wry smile on Andy's face was more encouraging than anything; he was rooting for them.   
  
"It's kind of an in-joke, dude."  
  
"Right."  
  
"I kind of... So like, on my birthday, I turned him down for... stuff. And so we're kind of dicking around, not taking it majorly seriously or anything, y'know?"  
  
Andy glanced over at him and nodded.  
  
"Because I mean, like... it's a pretty big deal."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"And like, totally complicated and we're both – I mean. Neither of us have been there before and stuff."  
  
"If I had any more idea on what to do than you do, I'd totally impart all and any knowledge, little brother, but girls are pretty much self-basting."  
  
"HUH?!"  
  
Andy just laughed. "You'll never need to know."  
  
"Do I even want to?"  
  
"Not while you've got little Stumpy, back there."  
  
Joe snorted, and started, "Oh, he's not –" He shut his mouth abruptly as he realised what he was saying. "Um. New subject?"  
  
"Yeah, great idea – let's talk about what 'too much information' means."  
  
"So, it's like, not okay to say my boyfriend is like, seriously pa- ?" Joe teased innocently.  
  
"NO!" Andy laughed back, back-handing him in the shoulder. "No, that is so not okay! When we get out there and start playing shows, all I'm gonna see of him is his ass, dude. And that is so wrong."  
  
"I should like, take up drums or something..."  
  
"You should take a cold shower!"  
  
"What, like, together?"  
  
"Jesus, dude, _stop_!" Andy almost wailed through his laughter, slapping at him blindly while trying to keep his eyes on the road.   
  
Joe folded his arms and propped his feet on the dash, mock-woundedly, "Some brother you are, man, if you don't even care..."  
  
"Oh, I care, dude, I just don't want to ever, ever think of certain things including but not limited to: your boyfriend's dick; your boyfriend's ass; either of you naked; either of you naked  _together_... and what the fuck I'm gonna have to do to get a good night's sleep when we start touring. Somebody's gonna have to play nookie police..."  
  
"Yeah, and it'll be like me, telling Pete to get his hands off my bitch."  
  
"I'm pretty sure Patrick can handle that by himself."  
  
"Yeah... he's pretty badass..." Joe nodded, feeling the need to point this out because he wasn't sure Andy saw it quite as clearly as he did, as good friends as they were.  
  
"He's a good dude."  
  
"Right, and I mean, like, he totally gets me – "  
  
Andy couldn't quite smother a chuckle in time and immediately apologised, reaching out to ruffle Joe's hair.   
  
" – shut up, man, he does... most of the time. And he's... I just totally love him, dude."  
  
"Oh. Woah. Okay. That's serious."  
  
"Yeah. I guess it is."  
  
Neither of them spoke again for several minutes, Joe just watched the street lights glinting up the windshield, until Andy said, "Does he know?"  
  
"Know what?"  
  
"That you feel like that, man."  
  
"He said it first," Joe informed him, trying to smother the pride he felt at that fact. Because seriously, if Patrick hadn't taken the plunge he might never have said it himself, and might never have believed him if he'd just said it back. He was still trying to figure out what Patrick saw in him, anyway.  
  
"So, I guess you guys are pretty good, right now?"  
  
"We're _awesome_. Seriously. The past couple of weeks have kind of like been the best ever, basically. Except for not having my car, but I mean, like, nothing's ever perfect..." Andy was looking at him funny. "What?"  
  
"Nothing. It's just that like, six months ago, I was having a whole different conversation with you... It's pretty cool. I thought you were growing up _then_ , but damn..."  
  
Joe grinned self-consciously. _Probably wouldn't even be dating him if it wasn't for like, you kicking my ass into bringing him to the show, dude. And that is totally like, fucking scary._ "Thanks."  
  
\---  
  
When it finally happened, it was kind of unexpected. The longer they spent curled up in each other's beds, or teasing each other with inappropriate groping at increasingly risky locations, the more comfortable they got. And the more comfortable they got, the more intense their game of chicken became – until one evening when Patrick came over after work and Joe just didn't stop him as he went from blowing playful raspberries on his stomach to tugging down his boxers.  
  
Patrick had mostly seemed shocked that he'd been allowed to do it at all. Joe had been entirely appalled with himself for not getting into this way, _way_ earlier. Unfortunately for Patrick, Joe was only halfway into reciprocating when Patrick's mom called and told him to come home. They had agreed, though, through sloppy, frustrated kisses at the bedroom door, that the time had definitely come. The only problem now was getting some actual privacy.  
  
And privacy was not something that came easily with three parents and two siblings between them (three, if they counted Megan, but she'd moved out when Patrick was in Elementary school). Especially when Patrick's mother was so over-protective and Joe's parents were total homebodies – or expected him to babysit when they did venture beyond the sitting room. They thought, during the last weekend in September, that there might be a chance when Patrick's mom went to her sister's place – but Kevin had a bunch of friends around instead of going out and neither of them were that happy at the prospect of having slightly drunk D&D geeks invading their more private party.  
  
Then, there was a Saturday afternoon when Joe's mom was taking Sam to the mall to get some new sneakers because he was growing out of everything all of a sudden, but Joe's uncle Philip came over to help his dad with the new shed in the yard. Even with them in the garden, Joe wasn't too deliriously happy at the prospect of his father – as accepting as he was – mocking him about it for the rest of his life.  
  
They even joked about going to a motel in sheer desperation for some time alone, but it just seemed way too tacky and a little more grubby than they really wanted to deal with.  
  
But it was one Sunday – the second weekend in October – in the afternoon before a rescheduled band practise, that they found themselves on the couch in Patrick's basement. It was a relatively safe place to make out, because there were doors at each end of the staircase and his mother was absolutely convinced the place was filled with creepy-crawlies and therefore refused to venture beyond the top step (she had no idea about Andy's spider liberation campaign and Patrick was very careful about keeping it that way). And it was easy to get carried away after several fruitless weeks of trying to arrange some time alone and entirely failing, getting by on rushed and still fairly clumsy blowjobs and handjobs which were really just getting kind of boring, now. So when Patrick mumbled Joe's name against his shoulder as Joe fumbled with the zipper on his jeans and Patrick tried valiantly to shove down Joe's pants, he assumed it was just because the whole thing was risky and kind of hot. Patrick _did that_ when he was into whatever they were doing at that point in time – mumbled Joe's name at him like he was the eighth wonder of the world (which he clearly wasn't, but Joe was down with flattery if he could get it). He had no reason to expect Patrick to really mean, 'Joe, get off - I want to kick off my pants and hang over the edge of the couch in a really unflattering way to get hold of some stuff you were always too chicken to buy'. Because, apparently – and reasonably, actually – the back of the broken amp they only used as a cup stand was a great place to hide things that neither of them would ever, _ever_ want their parents to find.  
  
Joe spent several moments busily realising he'd never seen his boyfriend from this angle before, and if it wasn't kind of embarrassing it might have been a tragedy; the next few were consumed with wondering where the hell he actually _had_ got this stuff from, because Patrick looked so young most of the time he'd probably give the cashier at Walgreens a coronary.  
  
"Okay, take this."  
  
Joe just blinked at him.  
  
"C'mon, man, we don't have that long."  
  
Joe turned his attention to the accoutrements in his hands and swallowed awkwardly. He was about to raise vague objections as to the general circumstances, but Patrick was wise to his procrastinating habits and wriggled back down underneath him, tugging at his wrist until he leaned back down over him, close enough to kiss. At which point Joe really lost all cognitive function in the proceedings, barely even able to take direct, if mumbled, instructions – at least until Patrick slapped him lightly on the shoulder and snapped, "Jesus, dude – do you need a fucking diagram?"  
  
"Sorry..."  
  
"Don't be _sorry_ , just... do you want to not do this?"  
  
"Well, I'm kind like of there, now..."  
  
"Um, yeah. Right now, not so much..."  
  
Huffing, Joe pressed his hands against the couch and started to pull away, knowing that with the volume of blood rushing to his face the whole ordeal was going to be pretty pointless soon, anyway. Quite literally.  
  
"Hey. Come back here..." Patrick was following, dragging himself into a sitting position and pulling him closer, one hand on a very hot cheek, the other slipping around him tenderly. "Don't get pissy... not now, dude."  
  
"I'm not – I just like... it's kind of embarrassing, man. I don't want to suck at this so bad that you never want to do it again."  
  
Sighing, Patrick nuzzled his cheek and assured him, "That's not going to happen."  
  
Believing that didn't come quite as naturally as it should have done. He disguised the fact by letting Patrick kiss him soothingly until he was suitably diverted from his neurosis, and then found himself carefully pushed back to slump against the back of the couch while Patrick climbed into his lap, mumbling, "I really hope this is easier, dude, or I'm giving up..."  
  
It was still embarrassing. And awkward. But at least now all Joe really had to think about was making sure Patrick didn't fall off his lap and that this old couch really was getting more than its fair of action. That all paled into an insignificance of gasps and half-hissed curses that made Joe feel both guilty and glad that he wasn't the one doing this. Then again, that had been all Patrick's decision.  
  
"You okay, dude?" he whispered into his shoulder, anyway.  
  
"Finefinefinefinefine... just. Shit, man. _Ow_."  
  
"You want to stop?"  
  
"No!"  
  
"Well, I just mean – "  
  
"Dude. Shh. This has to get better or nobody would do it."  
  
Fair point.  
  
And actually, it _did_ get better. And easier, kind of, once they stopped focusing on how they were supposed to be doing it and actually just started _doing it_. It wasn't supposed to be a military operation anyway. It was supposed to be fun. Joe could kind of see how that worked, after a while, but it being fun, rather than seriously weird, a whole bunch or effort and yeah, okay, really pretty hot (even when Patrick knelt on the remote and got the CD stuck on 'Everlong' at a volume that increased his mother's likelihood of throwing arachnaphobia to the wind and stomping down the stairs to tell them to be quiet, by approximately a factor of x1000) was kind of a long way off in practice.  
  
But he did get to see Patrick with his bangs all stuck to his face, and watch him try to smile around breathless gasps (more like pants, really) and abandon them in favour of hurried kisses, steadied with fistfuls of Joe's curls. Now that part, _that_ was pretty awesome. So awesome that what it really took to get him off was opening his own eyes to find Patrick gazing down at him with a weird, slightly stupefied look on his face, bottom lip sucked between his teeth and almost stretched into a delirious grin.  
  
"My legs are totally killing me," he mumbled against Joe's neck when he'd caught his breath back.  
  
Joe just snickered in slightly stunned wonderment and kissed him on the cheek as he rubbed Patrick's thighs soothingly. "Lucky you're not our drummer, then, man..."  
  
Patrick just snorted and almost fell on his ass as he tried to climb off of Joe's lap and stand up and retrieve his jeans.  
  
"Dude, don't like... break your arm or something," Joe giggled, grabbing him to help him catch his balance, "I don't wanna like, become a sex-related statistic already..."  
  
Turning to retort, and picking up his jeans to hold them in a subtly strategic position, Patrick opened his mouth and only managed, "Um... I think I'm gonna go get you a clean shirt..."  
  
Joe looked down at himself and blushed. "Uh. Yeah. Thanks, dude." The very idea of anyone – never mind Patrick's mom (or worse – Pete!) – figuring out what they'd been doing was utterly mortifying, and one look at his shirt provided pretty firm evidence.   
  
He got up and reclaimed the clothes he had been smart enough to actually remove and started to put them back on self-consciously, only to find himself pulled back and wrapped in a tight cuddle before he'd even finished buttoning his pants. For a minute or two they just stood there, listening to the track _still_ playing and letting the whole thing fall into place.  
  
"Hey?" Patrick murmured against his shoulder eventually, and Joe just 'hmm?'-ed in response. "I think I'm kind of ready to tell my mom."


	10. Snitches and Talkers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe saw him first.

**The World's Not Waiting (For Joe Trohman to Stop Being a Pussy and Start Going For What He Wants)**  
 _Part Ten: Snitches and Talkers  
  
"Now talking's just a waste of breath."_  
  
  
  
Joe didn't know what to say, at first. He just froze. After all this time, with Patrick terrified of what his mother would think, he suddenly wanted her to know? Joe _kind of_ got it – it was like they'd just signed some kind of declaration – but why risk ruining it by telling one of the few people who had any chance of screwing it up? Then again, she was his mom.  
  
"Are you sure you like, _want_ to tell her?"  
  
Patrick shrugged a little, pulling back so his hands settled on Joe's waist and scrunching up his nose. "I don't think I can just tell her straight off, y'know? She's going to need some prepping for the information..."   
  
"Like what?"  
  
"I dunno, man... I just can't go up there and say, 'Hey, mom? Yeah, so by the way me and Joe have just been doing it in your basement. Is that okay?' I think that might pretty much kill her."  
  
"Is she gonna be _that pissed_ , dude?" _Oh man, I am like, never going to see you again. There's gonna be a civil war – we'll have to elope and get married and find a priest who'll give us like, poison and shit and then we'll end up dead. But hey, at least like, our families'll all be BFFs or whatever._  
  
"Not... I don't think _pissed_ , exactly... but yeah. I'm gonna have to be careful how I say it." Patrick looked up and him and snickered at the expression on Joe's face. "It's not gonna be the end of the world, dude."  
  
Joe nodded, and shrugged away a little. "Could you, um, get me a shirt? The guys'll be here like, really soon..."  
  
"Oh! Shit... yeah, sure." Patrick pulled away and started for the door, before turning back and asking, "I don't look all... dishevelled or anything, right?"  
  
"Um..." Joe reached out and combed his hair down with his fingers. "She's probably gonna like, wonder why you're all sweaty." _And the guys are gonna wonder why I'm shirtless and kind of like walking like I peed myself. I would give like, anything for a shower, right now. Next time, we are so doing it at my house._  
  
"I'll run. She won't notice." Patrick grinned and grabbed him quickly for a kiss, and then made for the stairs.  
  
Sitting back down on the couch, Joe picked up the mistreated remote and almost switched the mini stereo off of repeat, but found himself grinning at the words and vague recollections of the video and decided to leave it as it was. Of all songs to be stuck with the memory of, it could honestly have been much worse. 'I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)' was on the same CD, somewhere.  
  
 _Would have been pretty ironic, though, man._  
  
He closed his eyes and grinned, doing a private victory dance in his head. It wasn't quite a Fonz moment, but after a slightly false start _they'd done it_. They'd actually, honest to God  _done it_. It was kind of a relief that Patrick had just taken charge, because he'd been pretty convinced he was going to ruin it or something. He still felt kind of gross, though.  
  
Patrick hopped down the last three steps and through the open door, brandishing a t-shirt and collapsed into the seat beside him. "Didn't notice. And I got you the Green Day one, because at least that's only slightly humiliating."  
  
"Oh man, not the _Green Day_ one!" Joe joked, tossing it aside playfully.  
  
"It could have been the Purple Rain one."  
  
"This t-shirt? Officially the coolest shirt you own."  
  
Laughing, Patrick nuzzled his shoulder and tucked an arm around him. They were quiet for a few minutes – slightly sleepy and content to just sit there with Joe toying with Patrick's hair and Patrick's fingers stroking softly at Joe's hip – until he shifted to prop his chin on Joe's shoulder, and softly said, close to his ear, "'Love you."  
  
Joe grinned self-consciously and pressed a kiss to his lips, off-centre and perhaps a little too abrupt, and mumbled, "Me too."  
  
"And it was... y'know: good, right?"   
  
"Well, apparently you thought so," Joe snorted, whipping him on the shoulder with the t-shirt beside him.  
  
"You didn't?"  
  
"Huh? What? Oh! No, I totally did. Totally."  
  
"Cool."  
  
"I'm like... glad we did it."  
  
Patrick grinned against Joe's neck, almost shifting onto his lap. "Me too. I kind of thought we were never gonna get around to it..."  
  
"Next time, I'll like... do the hard work or whatever," Joe offered shrugging nonchalantly and tucking his fingers down the back of Patrick's jeans.  
  
Patrick just laughed into his shoulder.  
  
They were still sitting there when Pete dragged his amp down the stairs, thudding it on the wall at least four times before he got there. It was lucky, really, because it gave Joe a chance to put on the t-shirt which had been half-forgotten in the middle of lazy snuggling, while Patrick hurriedly stuffed everything back into the amp and shoved it against the wall.  
  
Pete stopped in the doorway and looked at them, standing in the middle of the room, pretending they weren't up to anything. He cocked an eyebrow. "Don't stop on my account."  
  
Joe could feel himself turning crimson, but Patrick just smirked back at Pete and flipped him off.   
  
Andy trotted down the stairs a moment later, having locked up the van, and they left him to set up with Pete while they went upstairs to get drinks.   
  
"Do you like, think Pete _knows_ , dude?" Joe whispered, leaning into Patrick's shoulder slightly as Patrick handed him cans of soda from the fridge.  
  
"Pete's thought he knew since day one, man."  
  
"No, but I mean – "  
  
"It doesn't really matter anymore, though, does it? If he thinks he knows, he's right," Patrick whispered back, flashing him a grin.  
  
Joe shook his head and smiled, brushing his fingers against the small of Patrick's back briefly, nervous that his mother would walk back in to check on her baking.  
  
"Hey," Patrick hissed at the door to the basement steps, gesturing for him to be as quiet as possible as they crept down the stairs. "We'll like, jump out at the bottom and make a bunch of noise and watch those pussies pee their pants."  
  
Even as they tiptoed down the stairs, they could hear the others' voices below. They were laughing about something, which was good, because it meant they weren't expecting an ambush. But as they reached the third or fourth step from the bottom, Patrick held up one hand to stop him, and gestured for Joe to listen.  
  
"...been busy, to me."  
  
"Maybe they have," Andy's voice replied, and Joe could almost hear the shrug.  
  
"What else do you think they've been using one of these for, kind of? Party balloons?"  
  
"I think you should just shut the fuck up and put the wrapper in the trash and not try to humiliate them, okay?"  
  
"Fuck you, man – what kind of asshole do you think I am?"  
  
"The same asshole you've always been. Except now you want what Joe's got."  
  
"Fuck off, Hurley. I just don't like, want to see their little thing to blow up and ruin the band."  
  
"Pete. We have played _two shows_."  
  
"So? It's totally one thing to be kind of dating someone you're in a band with and call it off and still be okay with it, but if things start getting serious and they end up hating each other, the whole thing is screwed."  
  
"What, you're allowed to crush on the kid, but Joe can't have him if you can't?"  
  
"That is not what I'm trying to say!"  
  
"Sure, Pete. Sure."  
  
"Believe whatever you want, dude – I'm just saying I never figured they'd get serious. They're kids. They – "  
  
"They're both way more mature than you. And actually, they're both way more mature than that piece of jailbait you're fucking, so you kind of don't have a right to judge."  
  
"Whatever."  
  
"They're happy. Leave them alone."  
  
"What would they even know at that age?"  
  
"It doesn't matter. It's not your problem. If you try to make it your problem I'm gonna have to kick your ass, Pete."  
  
"You could fucking try," Pete laughed, followed by the sound of a few playful slaps on fabric. "But they're kids. They're not gonna stay together and when they break up, this band is fucked, basically. I'll put twenty on it."  
  
On the steps, Patrick looked up at Joe somewhere between angry and anxious, and shook his head slightly. "Ignore him," he whispered. "We're good. We're fine. He's being a fucking jealous dick."  
  
Nodding, Joe leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. He didn't feel much like pranking them anymore. Instead, he jerked his head back toward the top of the stairs, and they crept back up in order to run down noisily and hide the fact they'd heard everything. Joe took the opportunity to shake violently at the cans in his hands. Patrick made a point of holding his hand as they walked in, though, and the look on Pete's face became slightly fixed.   
  
"How long does it take to get a couple of cans, or whatever?" he snorted, catching the can Joe threw at him, and tapping the top to settle the drink inside. "Did you guys stop for another quickie or something on the way?"  
  
"Shut up, Pete," Patrick muttered putting his can down and plugging in his guitar.  
  
Pete raised an eyebrow and held up the condom wrapper they already knew he'd found. "What _would_ your mom, say?"  
  
"'Litter goes in the trash, Patrick'."  
  
"Yeah, sure. _His_ mom might, kind of," Pete snickered, tossing it in Joe's direction.   
  
"Just fucking drop it, okay?"  
  
But Pete wouldn't. The entire practise was spent dicking around and making jokes; asking deeply embarrassing questions and ordering them to stop 'eye fucking'. In the end, Patrick kicked him hard in the balls as he lifted up his bass, and the practice came to an abrupt end.  
  
Instead, they wandered up to the kitchen to misappropriate some of the fresh baking Patrick's mom had left out, before Patrick ended up braining Pete with his own instrument.  
  
"So, seriously," Pete asked around a mouthful of pumpkin square, leaning leisurely against the kitchen island, "how long?"  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"You have like, _actually done it_ , right?"  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"Because you two have been 'dating' like... four million years, now, so you pretty much have to be fucking, kind of. Or are you still just holding hands in the playground like third graders?"  
  
"Why is this any of your business?!"  
  
"I'll take that as a no, kind of. But don't hold out on him too long, dude – he has a really short attention-span, or whatever."  
  
Joe punched him in the arm indignantly. "Fuck you, dude! That's like, so totally not true!"  
  
"'Not true'!" Pete laughed, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "I've known you forever, basically. I know you too well for this shit. And anyway, you two are like teenagers and everything – you should have been doing it within like, half an hour of your first date or something."  
  
Patrick quirked an eyebrow at him, "Who says we weren't?"  
  
"The look on Joe's face, right now."  
  
"Yeah? Well, for your information, yes: me and Joe are fucking. We're doing it. Happy, now? Or do you want proof?"  
  
Andy, leaning against the work surface by the window, had turned very pale and mumbled, "Um – Patrick?" Patrick glanced at him, then at the door, and Joe followed his gaze. His stomach dropped; Patrick's mother was standing there, no expression whatsoever on her face.  
  
"Mom – "  
  
"Patrick, please send your friends home, now."  
  
Andy and Pete didn't wait for any further cue. They made for the door to the basement without looking at him. Knowing that he was blushing furiously, Joe looked at him for a moment, silently asking him if he wanted him to stay. Patrick just shook his head.  
  
Even by the time they returned, dragging amplifiers up the steps, Andy carrying their guitars, neither Patrick nor his mother had moved an inch. She watched them go in silence. Patrick just lifted his hand awkwardly to wave them off.  
  
"Did she not know?" Pete asked, dumping his amp on the sidewalk by the van.  
  
Joe kind of wanted to kill him. "No! No, she didn't fucking know!"  
  
"Yeah, well I guess nobody tells their mom that shit, anyway..."  
  
"She didn't even know he's into dudes, you dick!" Joe hissed, his hands curling into fists so tight his knuckles hurt.   
  
Pete's face dropped. "Shit."  
  
Andy shook his head with an aggravated huff and flung open the van door. "You can't help but open your fucking mouth, can you?"  
  
"What?! He said it!"  
  
Joe sat outside in his car for an hour, afterward, his cell in his hands, waiting for it to ring. He didn't want to risk calling and getting Patrick into trouble, but he didn't want to abandon him either. Finally, hoping that she'd simply taken it well, he drove home.  
  
When he got there his mom was in the kitchen, cooking dinner.  
  
"Hi, sweetheart – how was practice?" she smiled, dicing an unnecessarily large pile of potatoes.  
  
"Patrick's mom knows," Joe blurted helplessly.  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"Patrick's mom. She knows about us. That we're like... that we're dating and stuff."  
  
His mom put down her knife and turned to look at him. "And what happened?"  
  
"She sent us home."  
  
"Well, did she seem upset? It can be quite a shock to find out that your child isn't entirely the person you thought they were, honey."  
  
"I don't know... kind of. It like, really _sucks_ , though because he was like... he wanted her to find out right and stuff. He was totally scared she was gonna be mad or something... She's pretty strict and stuff and he has a curfew and things, even though he's eighteen in a few months. I mean, like, she's always been pretty nice and whatever, but he's totally freaked out that she'll be upset..."  
  
She kissed him on the forehead and patted his shoulder. "I'm sure she'll be reasonable, honey. There's no need for you to worry – "  
  
The house phone rang and a moment later Sam's voice yelled, "JOOOOOOOOOE! IT'S YOUR _BOYFRIEND_!"  
  
"Patrick?" he said, the second he got to the hall and wrestled the phone from his brother's grasp. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Um. Kind of not really."  
  
Joe's heart skipped a beat. "Is she pissed?"  
  
"Yeah. Kind of."  
  
"Shit. Are you gonna like, be okay, or...?"  
  
"Well, she's not telling me to get out or anything, but... I'd kind of like to not be here right now."  
  
"I'll come get you, dude," Joe told him without hesitating, just as his mom peered out of the kitchen door into the hall, gesturing to the floor and the phone and mouthing what appeared to be, 'he can stay here'. "My mom... I think. Hang on." He put the phone to his shoulder. "What?"  
  
"If he needs a place to stay, you bring him here."  
  
"Seriously?"  
  
"I won't have him on the streets."  
  
"He's not being kicked out, mom..."  
  
"Well. If he needs someplace to stay, he's welcome to come here. Just make sure he leaves our number." She disappeared back into the kitchen without another word.  
  
Putting the receiver back to his ear, Joe asked, "You hear that, dude?"  
  
"How come you get amazing parents?"  
  
"I dunno. But like, you want me to come get you?"  
  
"If... yeah, man, if that's okay. I just need some space or something and I could go to my dad's but that'd suck. He lives the other side of town."  
  
"Okay. I'm coming now, dude."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"I can't believe you even asked that."  
  
\---  
  
He didn't have the nerve to go up to the door and knock when he got to Patrick's, instead, he honked a couple of times and got out to stand leaning against the hood, on the sidewalk. Patrick was at the door almost immediately and walked out to him with his head high but a grim, miserable look on his face.   
  
"Hey."  
  
Patrick didn't say anything, just leaned up to kiss him pointedly. Joe glanced up at the house as Patrick pulled away and reached for the door. The living room curtain twitched.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
"Can we go?"  
  
"What even happened?"   
  
Patrick didn't answer until Joe was already sitting down and strapping himself in. "She still thinks I'm a baby. And I'm really fucking not."  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
"That she thinks it's a phase. That I could be dating girls instead of wasting my time on you. That there's no such thing as being into girls _and_ guys. The kind of fucking stuff you'd be surprised to hear from a twelve year old."  
  
"Is she like, mad at _me_ , or whatever? I mean, like – she doesn't think I turned you or anything?"  
  
There was a long, unnatural silence. And then finally, "I had to tell her everything..."  
  
"Everything?"  
  
"How, y'know: how I had to practically beg you to date me. How you've never, ever tried to get me to do stuff."  
  
"Oh." _Was I supposed to? I didn't think that was cool_...  
  
"And she kind of wanted to know if we were really... uh. Yeah, she kind of wanted to know if we really were, y'know. And I had to say 'yes' and –"  
  
"You _had to_?" If he hadn't been obliged to concentrate on driving, Joe would have thumped his head on the steering wheel.  
  
"Don't look like that, man, your mom caught me getting jerked off by her precious baby – don't get all weird because I _told_ my mom."  
  
"It's just kind of embarrassing, dude..."  
  
"Yeah, it kind of is, but if we're big enough to do this, we're big enough to talk about it."  
  
Joe wasn't quite sure he agreed. "I just don't want your mom to like, start hating me or something and say we can't see each other and stuff..."  
  
"Joe. Listen. If she starts all that kind of crap I swear I'll go live with my dad or something. But she won't. Because she doesn't have a problem with y'know: being gay, she just doesn't believe that I am."  
  
"Well... you're kind of not."  
  
"Yeah? You try saying that next time you have your dick in my mouth, man."  
  
"Sorry." Joe didn't try to say anything else, afraid of making it worse. Patrick clearly wasn't in the mood; they drove the rest of the way in silence.  
  
When they got home, Joe's mom was still cooking. She looked up as they walked in and put down her oven mitt. "Hello, sweetheart," she cooed, gathering Patrick up in a hug and petting his hair. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Um..." Patrick mumbled something inaudible into her sweater and squinted at Joe for help.  
  
"I think you're suffocating him, mom."  
  
His mother flagrantly ignored him and hugged Patrick tighter before pulling away and squishing his face in her hands. "I want you to know that you can stay here as long as you want to – "  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"- but I'm going to need to call your mom and make sure she's happy for you to be here – "  
  
"MOM!"  
  
"- and Joe is going to have to give you a ride to classes tomorrow, so you're both going to need to be up a little early."  
  
"Mom – c'mon! Give the dude a break – one day out of school – "  
  
"Did you bring your books?"  
  
"They're mostly in my locker..."  
  
"Good, then you're all set."  
  
"I can't believe you're sending us to school, mom..."  
  
"Well, what _did_ you expect? If you boys want to elope, that's fine, but when you elope to our house, you still get to go to school. And that's non-negotiable."  
  
Joe tugged at Patrick's arm to take him upstairs with a huff of annoyance.  
  
"Honey, have you eaten already? Because we're just about to sit down for dinner..."  
  
"Um... not yet."  
  
"Well, that's fine – Joe, go and tell your brother to set the table in the dining room, for me."  
  
"We're eating in the dining room? Why can't we just, like, eat here like always?"  
  
"Well, partly because everyone is home, tonight, but mostly because Mommy Said So."  
  
"But – can't you just...? You _know_ Patrick's been here before, right?"  
  
"Yes, sweetheart, both your father and I are very aware that Patrick has been here before. Now, do you want to talk about last time he stayed over, or are you going to go and tell Sammy to set the table?"  
  
Joe was out of there like a whippet.

\---  
  
Going to bed was a little awkward, that night. They spent the evening watching _Animal House_ in the den, Sam already sent to his room so he couldn't hog the couch, until Joe's mom came in wearing her dressing gown and told them to go to bed.  
  
"Sweetheart," she said, catching Joe's arm as he followed Patrick out of the room, "your father and I talked, and we think it might be better if you stayed in the guest room, for now."  
  
"What?! Mom – that's not fair!"  
  
"Shh – you'll wake your brother – "  
  
"Why can't we just sleep in my room together? We _always_ sleep in – "  
  
"Joseph Mark Trohman you zip it for a second and listen or you'll be sleeping in the yard, never mind anywhere else."  
  
Patrick stood behind her, trying to stifle the first smile he'd even come close to giving all evening.  
  
"I can't believe you're whining like a little girl in front of Patrick!" she teased, clipping him gently on the back of the head. "I was _going_ to say, sleep in the guest room because there's more room and you both have school in the morning. You won't get a decent night's sleep crushed into that tiny single in your own room."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"So, am I still Cruella De Ville?"  
  
"No, you're awesome."  
  
"Right answer. Go to bed."  
  
There was something unsettling about sleeping in a room other than Joe's or Patrick's own, and actually having so much space to sprawl out in. They were used to having to sleep curled up around each other and standing beside the queen in the guestroom, it seemed more like a small country than a bed.  
  
"Well. I guess like, we don't have to spread out over the whole thing..." Joe suggested, eyeing the slightly chintzy covers and rose-pink lamps on either side. He couldn't think of anything but the fact that his grandparents had slept in that bed on numerous occasions, and now he was about to share it with his _boyfriend_ who was staying over, more or less, because his mother had found out he took it in the ass. Gross.  
  
Patrick gave him a side-long glance, his mouth contorted into a dubious expression. "I guess."  
  
"If it's too weird, we can go back to my room."  
  
"I dunno... I feel like it'd be rude or something not to, y'know: try. Your mom and dad are trying to be accepting and stuff, so... It's more than my mom did."  
  
Sighing, Joe turned and tugged him into a hug, kissing him on the temple. "She'll come around, dude," he tried gently, and Patrick twisted and wrapped his arms around Joe tightly. For the first time all evening, he really gave in to how miserable he was and buried his face into Joe's shoulder, snuffling slightly. "Hey..."  
  
"I'm not crying."  
  
"You can if you want."  
  
"I'm okay, I'm just _totally_ pissed, y'know? It's not fucking fair that you get amazing parents, and Pete gets a really cool mom, and Andy's mom sounds like she's pretty amazing and my mom is like... she's great, y'know? Like – yeah, she babies me a lot, but I'm the youngest and she's always done that – but y'know, there's this _one fucking thing_ that really means something to me and she has to go and be this stupid about it."  
  
"If Pete had never – "  
  
"It's not Pete's fault. If she was gonna be a dick about it she was _always_ gonna be a dick about it."  
  
"I guess."  
  
"I really wanted her to like you..."  
  
"Doesn't she?"  
  
"Probably not until you grow a uterus or something..."  
  
Joe sighed heavily, squishing him tight and whispered, "If I could, dude..."  
  
"Y'know what?" Patrick said, pulling away and running his hand through his hair. "That's the whole fucking thing that pisses me off so much! She doesn't care that what I have is this totally _amazing_ dude who I really like, and who'd basically do anything for me – she just sees me making this huge supposed mistake and stuff and I'm not _making_ a mistake! I don't care whether you're a guy or a girl or anything. It doesn't _matter_ and I don't see why she has to be so fucking controlling about it. I'm the one dating you, not her!"  
  
"Dude," Joe whispered, carefully pressing his fingers over Patrick's mouth. "Shh. It's late. I like, I totally understand why you're pissed and everything, but... maybe she'll cool off or whatever?"  
  
"I'm not going home until she gets used to the fucking idea. I'll go to dad's if I have to –"  
  
"Mom said –"  
  
"Yeah, I know, and that's seriously cool and everything, but I don't know how long this is gonna take and I don't want to outstay my welcome or anything."  
  
"You can't outstay anything. Mom loves you, dude, I think she'd try to like, _keep you_ whether we were together or not."  
  
Sighing, despondently, Patrick shrugged and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. "I really wanted this to work out."  
  
"Maybe it will, or something. Maybe it's just like... the shock. Because dude, my mom's totally right: she's just figured out her ickle baby Patty Cake is kind of like... doing stuff that pisses off everyone's parents. With a dude." The latter part of his speech came out muffled through the fabric of his shirt as he pulled it over his head.  
  
"Today just sucked," Patrick complained, watching him get undressed with very little interest. "It should have been awesome, and it _sucked_."  
  
"I know, dude... I'm sorry it like, all got fucked up..."  
  
"No, dude, if it wasn't for you and your mom and dad – "  
  
Joe covered Patrick's mouth with his palm and 'shh'-ed him. "I told you: Mom _loves you_ , dude."  
  
"Thanks," Patrick mumbled back, standing up a little to shake off his jeans and leave them in a pile on the floor.  
  
"She does! She was right out there the second she knew I was talking to you and like, giving me these weird hand signals and trying to tell me to tell you you could stay, and stuff."  
  
"Kind of wish I didn't have to." Patrick sighed a little and wriggled over to the other side of the bed, holding up the blankets so Joe could get in.  
  
"Dude, I don't want to sound like I'm taking her side or anything," he said, picking Patrick's jeans up and folding them quickly, dropping them onto the chair with his own, "but I guess if it was my kid I'd be kind of weirded out, and stuff." Finally, he climbed in and switched off the bedside lamp, settling down and trying to tug Patrick to him.  
  
He didn't need much coercing, but he didn't shut up, either. "Your mom wasn't weirded out," he argued, shifting around until he was half wrapped around Joe's side.  
  
"In case you haven't noticed, my whole family's kind of quirky. And she _so was_ weirded out."  
  
There was a soft snort.  
  
"To be fair, though, dude... my mom didn't just have to go on hearsay."  
  
Patrick actually giggled a little.  
  
Taking a slow, deep breath and trying to think of anything he could say to help, Joe stroked Patrick's hair and mumbled, "But like, you've still like... you've still got me, if that's any consolation. If you like, want me to, I could like... kind of talk to her or something. I mean, I doubt she'd take me that seriously, or anything, but like... if she knows I really, really love you and everything... I don't want her to think I don't, anyway. I'm not like, using her baby or anything."  
  
"I told her already..."  
  
"Maybe you could like, introduce me properly or something, y'know? 'Cause I've been hanging out at your house since April, or whatever, but she totally thinks of me, as like, this annoying kid who dropped a whole carton of chocolate milk on her floor and stuff... So maybe she needs to kind of like, stop thinking of me like that and start thinking of me like your boyfriend or something?" _It doesn't even feel weird saying that, anymore._  
  
Patrick shrugged against him. "I dunno... I wasn't expecting to have to, y'know: deal with this. Not already."  
  
"Well... it's kind of too late, _now_ , dude. May as well make the best of it, kind of thing, you know?"  
  
"Stop being sensible. It's creepy."  
  
Joe grinned and fumbled around to try to find his face so he could kiss him. "Just don't want you all sad and stuff, dude..."  
  
"School's gonna be really weird tomorrow."  
  
"Wanna skip it? I mean, like, we can go somewhere or something."  
  
"You mom would totally kill you."  
  
"She doesn't have to know."  
  
"No way, dude. She has Mom Powers. She knows everything. I don't want you to get in trouble trying to make me feel better."  
  
"Actually, I just like... really wanted a day out of school. But if you're gonna be all nerdy about it..." Joe teased, shrugging. He was pretty sure Patrick as smiling as he pulled away and turned his back to him, pulling Joe's arm around himself as he did so.  
  
"You can make me feel better in the morning."  
  
He blinked at the back of Patrick's head for a moment before he realised what he meant. "Then I guess I better get some sleep or something," he joked, snuggling a little closer and pinching his stomach playfully.   
  
"Don't flatter yourself."  
  
"Dude... if I was flattering myself I'd do better than that."  
  
"We'll see."  
  
" _You'll_ see!"  
  
They overslept.


	11. My Reputation's On the Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe saw him first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is essentially the second half of the last chapter – we'll be leaping ahead a couple of months after this one!

**The World's Not Waiting (For Joe Trohman to Stop Being a Pussy and Start Going For What He Wants)**  
 _Part Eleven: My Reputation's On The Line  
  
"Not as eloquent as I may have imagined..."_  
  
  
  
  
"Trohman, you're late."  
  
"I know, sir – I kind of had to do something before school."  
  
"Oh, really? Was it worth having something to do after school, like detention?"  
  
Joe blushed and glanced at the rest of his class; he really didn't want to have to admit this.  
  
"Do you _have_ an excuse, or are you trying to think one up right now?"  
  
"No – I do, but like – "  
  
"Would you care to share it with us? I'm sure everyone would be fascinated to know why you felt the need to interrupt the class almost twenty minutes into the lesson."  
  
"I got stuck in traffic."  
  
"Traffic. Between your house and school. Mr Trohman, do you or do you not live three streets away from me?"  
  
"Well – yeah, but it wasn't from home, sir."  
  
"Then where?"  
  
God, how he wished Luke were at least in this class with him. "Between South Glenbrook and – "  
  
"Mr Trohman, you don't attend South Glenbrook."  
  
"No, but like..." he took a deep breath and figured that he may as well tell the truth, because it wasn't as though everyone from the cafeteria staff to the principal didn't know, anyway, and hey – it might get him a reprieve. "Basically, I had to give my boyfriend a ride to school because he came out to his mom last night and she kind of kicked him out. So, I'm sorry I'm late and everything, but it was kind of important."  
  
Half the room laughed, a few of the girls 'awwed' at him, and one asshole at the back called out, "Fag!"  
  
"Mr Harvey. Congratulations - you just volunteered to take detention on Joe's behalf. Sit down, Trohman."  
  
"I don't like, get detention?"  
  
"Do you want detention?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then sit down, shut up and stop disrupting my class!"  
  
By the time they reached third period and Joe's first class with Luke, Luke had already heard.  
  
"Having a crisis, huh?" he hissed as they settled into their English lesson and the rest of the class filed in.  
  
"Dude. The last twenty-four hours have been insane."  
  
"I heard you were playing the dashing knight or something, rescuing your damsel, and you showed up late for Carter's class and got Kyle detention."  
  
"Kyle got himself detention for like, being a dick. And dude, seriously, unless you want to get like, punched in the throat, don't ever call Patrick a 'damsel' to his face, man."  
  
"So what happened?"  
  
"His mom found out about us because Pete was shooting his mouth off, and like, Patrick totally just let him con him into admitting that we, um," he gave Luke a significant look and gesticulated vaguely, glancing around to make sure no one else was paying particular attention to their conversation.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Dude. We _y'know_."  
  
"Holy shit! You did? Way to go, Troh, you _stud_." Luke reached out for a hi-five. Joe half-heartedly patted at his palm.  
  
"Yeah. Thanks. But like, Patrick's mom heard him saying it and got all pissy... and he's like amazing and everything but he can get pretty pissy about stuff too – I think it's hereditary - and like, she started telling him he couldn't be into guys _and_ girls and that it's all a phase or something and so he's all pissed with her and like, was gonna go and stay with his dad but it's like an hour away, so my mom made him stay with us and I had to take him to school."  
  
"Man, that sucks. She actually sent him to _school_?"  
  
"I know, dude, seriously."  
  
"So, is he moving in with you guys, now?"  
  
"I dunno, man. I mean, my mom would be cool with that because I think she'd pretty much rather have Patrick than me and Sam, but... like, one step at a time, man. We've only been dating since July..."  
  
"Oh, so you got the goods and now you're bored, huh?" Luke teased, smirking.  
  
"No! No way, dude, I just mean – he's seventeen. He's like, way too young to be moving out of home. He totally loves his mom, most of the time, he's just being all stubborn and stuff."  
  
"You sure you're not just having second thoughts, or something?"  
  
"Seriously, _no_ , we're like, better than ever basically, but he's not happy and that sucks."  
  
"So, like, are you doing something about it?"  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Joe, man, you can't be a knight in shining armour if your mom is doing all the saving, dude."  
  
"I gave him a ride – "  
  
"Isn't that what got him kicked out in the first place?"  
  
"You are so not funny. _So_ , so not funny."  
  
"Well, dude – if you're just gonna let your mom do everything –"  
  
"What am I kind of like supposed to do? I'm just this kid who defiled her baby – she's not even gonna want to look at me."  
  
" _'Defiled her baby'_!" Luke laughed a little too loudly, attracting some curious looks from surrounding desks. Thankfully, their teacher walked in and distracted the room from demanding to know who was being defiled and how, but Joe spent the entire lesson wondering what he could do to start to put things right.  
  
It wasn't that Joe didn't enjoy spending every evening hanging out with his boyfriend, or getting to sneak nookie (at least, to a certain extent) _on school nights_ , but Patrick was just clearly unhappy. Joe didn't really have any idea what he was supposed to do. Patrick hadn't even _tried_ to figure things out with his mom – and she hadn't called, either; apparently, she was just as stubborn as Patrick and that really wasn't helping either of them. Patrick was distracted and quiet most of the time, and clingy all the rest. Joe was perfectly content to play a living teddy bear, but it just wasn't helping.  
  
On Wednesday evening, they were sitting in the den, watching Purple Rain – which Joe had even been to the video store to rent on his way home from school, because he thought it might cheer Patrick up a little - tucked into the corner of the couch, with Patrick slumped back against Joe's chest and both of Joe's arms wrapped around him; he'd wanted them like that. Neither of them had said anything for a long while by the time his mom peeked in on them and Joe had stopped trying to encourage conversation because it was entirely futile. Patrick didn't even look up as she opened the door.  
  
For a moment she stood there with her mouth open, as if to say something, and then finally managed, "Joey, could you come and help me with something, for a moment, please?"  
  
Joe looked down at Patrick and patted at his shoulders, murmuring, "Sit up, dude," and kissing the top of his head as he got up. Patrick just curled into the corner of the couch with a sigh.  
  
"Honey, is Patrick okay?" Joe's mom asked, as she closed the kitchen door behind them. "He's hardly even eating and... well, he seems a little depressed."  
  
"I don't know, it's just like... he's so _quiet_ , mom. He does _eat_ , but it's like, candy and stuff all the time... he brings it home from school or work or something. And he's not really sleeping properly... I don't know what to do."  
  
"He hasn't talked to his mother, yet, has he?"  
  
"No..."  
  
"Would you like me to give her a call? Have a little talk, mom to mom?"  
  
 _Yespleasefixthis_. "No, it's fine... you've already been like, really awesome."  
  
His mother made a soft cooing sound and gathered him into a hug. "You're handling this very well, sweetie."  
  
"I'm not really like, doing anything useful, though."  
  
"You're doing fine. I'm very proud of you."  
  
" _Mom_."  
  
"No, I am. Your father and I have raised two very sweet and responsible boys."  
  
"You're not _seriously_ like, including Sam in that...?"  
  
Laughing, his mother pinched his cheek. "Sam's a good boy, too, don't get all jealous first-born, Joseph."  
  
"Sam's a lunatic, basically."  
  
"Oh, go back to the den! But you tell me if you want any help, or you'd like me or your father to give her a call, okay?"  
  
Joe nodded and gave her a hug. He didn't feel very good at doing this adult thing so much when it wasn't walking by the lake or sharing a bed every night. But something still had to change, and Luke had been right: it couldn't be his mom saving the day again.  
  
While Patrick was at work on Thursday evening, Joe decided to be a little more pro-active.  
  
He was almost shaking by the time he rang the doorbell; he had no idea how he was going to be greeted, but for such a tiny woman, Patrick's mom was pretty intimidating.  
  
"H-Hi, Mrs Stumph. I, um, I'm kind of here about Patrick."  
  
Patricia stared at him for a moment or two – he must have looked like a little kid, in his Transformers t-shirt and still carrying his rucksack – and then stepped back and opened the door to let him in.  
  
"Thanks..."  
  
She guided him into the kitchen and pulled out a stool at the breakfast bar, patting it so that he'd sit down while she went to the fridge and poured him a glass of chocolate milk.  
  
"How is he?" she asked with slightly strained lightness, sliding a tin of cookies toward him.  
  
"Um. Well," Joe began, taking an embarrassed sip of chocolate milk to buy time and not offend her, even if she clearly thought he was seven, not seventeen, "he's kind of miserable, actually..."  
  
"He knows he can come home any time he chooses."  
  
"I... I mean, I know he knows that and everything, but like... he's really kind of like... he's really _hurt_ , so he's being all awkward and stuff and not doing what he wants because he's too stubborn."  
  
"Well, he would."  
  
"Yeah," Joe laughed awkwardly, "he would."  
  
There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments, before Patricia sat down opposite him and took a deep breath. "Look. _Joe_ , you seem like a very sweet boy, but I know my child and I know that regardless of what he thinks he wants, he's very, very young and – "  
  
"Um. Except he's not."  
  
"I'm sorry?"  
  
"He's practically an adult. He's eighteen in a few months – "  
  
"That really means very little."  
  
"It means he can vote. And buy a house. And get married without anyone telling him he can. So like, if he's old enough for that stuff, can't he kind of like... be old enough to know if he likes someone, basically?"  
  
"That's not really the point."  
  
"Well, I'm like, even younger than Patrick and I know that I really like _him_ a whole lot."  
  
"Joe, that's really very sweet, but I'm sure your parents would agree that you're both still children."  
  
Sighing, Joe stared into his glass and started to realise exactly how futile this was and why Patrick hadn't bothered to try to persuade her of this since he'd left. "My mom and dad are actually like, pretty cool. They really like Patrick a lot."  
  
"Well – make sure you thank them for me, for taking in Patrick while he sulks."  
  
"He's not _sulking_ – he's totally, totally miserable but he won't come home because he thinks you won't accept me so I like, feel pretty bad, because it's like I'm making him unhappy. We kept the whole thing a secret for like, months, because he just like, wanted to tell you properly and not make you mad and the way you did find out was like, seriously, _seriously_ not how he planned."  
  
"How long have you parents known? I'm assuming they _do know_ what you're doing."  
  
"Um. They've known for kind of a long time. Almost from the beginning, basically."  
  
"Oh. Well, it's good to feel trusted," she muttered tartly.  
  
"M-Mrs Stumph, I don't want to sound rude or anything, but like... look what happened when you did find out. And if you're kind of thinking that maybe he'll give up what he wants because you don't believe it's for real, then... I don't think the Patrick you know is the dude I'm dating."  
  
She raised her eyebrows at him. "Really? And who is the Patrick you're dating?"  
  
Joe blushed and scratched the back of his neck. "He's like, pretty awesome," he shrugged. "He's one of the coolest, smartest people I know. And he seriously stands up for himself, now, even though, like, Pete's always ragging on him. And he stood up for me, once, when I got found out in school and this dude was like, giving me, uh... problems..."  
  
"I'm sorry to hear that."  
  
"It's fine. We kind of like... dealt with it. But it's not the point. Patrick is so, so cool – and just like... some of our friends are like, five years older than us, but he's more mature than a lot of them. I really think that like... he probably knows what he wants and that he's cool with that so it's not really like, anybody else's business to tell him that he's not."  
  
"You really care about him very much, don't you?" Patricia said quietly, as if this was something she'd never actually considered before.  
  
Joe just nodded.  
  
"So what do you think will happen when you leave high school in a few months time and go away to college?"  
  
"We kind of haven't talked about it..."  
  
"Well. What do you _think_ might happen?"  
  
"I don't know. We kind of like... we kind of made a point of not talking about it, I think."  
  
"You know he applied to a music school in Massachusetts, don't you?"  
  
For a moment, Joe's heart skittered and his stomach dropped. All he could do was to bite his lip and shake his head. _That's the other side of the country, almost._  
  
"It's a good school."  
  
"Then he'll probably get on pretty great there."  
  
"But it's a long, long way, Joe. Where were you hoping to go?"  
  
"I don't really care, that much. I applied to like, a bunch of places..."  
  
"What are you going to major in?"  
  
Joe sniffed and shrugged a little, suddenly feeling totally unworthy of her prodigious child. "Sociology."  
  
"Sociology."  
  
"People are interesting."  
  
"They certainly are."  
  
"But y'know, like, it doesn't matter if we have to go to different colleges... it's not like we'll never be home. And there's like, the internet and stuff..."  
  
"And there are other people. People you'll both see every single day."  
  
 _Are you trying to make me cry, or something?_  
  
"There will be girls there, Joe. Do you really think that Patrick – "  
  
"If Patrick wanted to date a girl, right now, I think that like, he'd be dating a girl. He's way popular at his job... I'm pretty sure any of the girls there would date him if they didn't already know he was with me."  
  
"People at the bookstore know?"  
  
"They've known since before we started dating," Joe admitted. "I kind of like... I turned him down at first, because someone else liked him and I didn't want to like, get in the way or anything... He was kind of gutted a little, and when people asked why, he told them the real reason."  
  
"So... how many people know about this?"  
  
Joe stared at her. "Well – everyone. Except you and his dad... and I think his school, but Simon knows. And all our friends know. And my grandparents think he's pretty much the nicest person they ever met... they gave him a family heirloom when they met him on my birthday, and stuff – it's like, this Star of David on a chain that belonged to my great uncle... and they're pretty old and not used to the whole kind of thing, so it was like... it was cool to have their blessing or something, basically."  
  
For a minute or two, Patricia gazed at her clasped hands and seemed to try to process this information.  
  
"He... I mean, he even has little rainbow stickers on his ID badge from work, and stuff. He's really kind of comfortable with the whole thing. Probably more than me, even."  
  
"Hm."  
  
They sat there in silence again, but it was Joe who broke it, this time; "Can I ask you something?"  
  
"Sure you can."  
  
"If Patrick hadn't like, told you he's bi, or whatever, and had told you he was just gay – just like, exclusively into dudes – would you still think he was making like, a huge mistake?"  
  
Patricia didn't seem to have an answer.  
  
\---  
  
By the time he left to pick Patrick up from work, Joe was fairly convinced that Patrick's mom wasn't quite as evil as he'd kind of imagined. She didn't have any idea what was going on in her son's life, but that was probably more to do with Patrick keeping it from her (and a little case of denial), than not caring. He actually felt kind of bad for her, in a way; she'd seemed pretty hurt when she realised how much she'd been kept in the dark.  
  
But more than that, more than anything else, Joe couldn't help thinking about the other matter they'd talked about; the one he'd been putting off for as long as possible because it kind of scared him.   
  
He didn't say anything until they'd baked themselves frozen pizza for dinner because Joe's mom was at her weaving group, and even then it was Patrick who brought things up.  
  
"You okay?" he asked, prodding a half-eaten slice into a puddle of ketchup on his plate, and not looking up.  
  
"Huh? Oh. Uh... kind of, I guess," Joe shrugged back. "Just, like... just thinking about stuff."  
  
There was a long pause as Patrick's pizza was placed carefully back on the plate and pushed slightly away. "Should that make me as paranoid as it just did?"  
  
"Um... no... I don't know, I just... I kind of have to tell you something."  
  
Patrick didn't say a word, he just sat back a little and chewed at his lip.  
  
"So, basically, while you were at work I kind of like did something that I don't know if you're gonna be pissed about, but I kind of hope you won't be, and like... it kind of... it kind of got me thinking about stuff I've been totally ignoring."  
  
"Okay..."   
  
"I guess I should tell you I kind of like... Iwenttoyourmombasically."  
  
" _What_?"  
  
"I kind of... I was kind of worried about you dude, and Luke told me I had to do something, so I like... I went to talk to your mom. But that's not the point, right now – "  
  
"It's not?"  
  
"Well, it is. But it's not what I was thinking about." _You are making such a fucking mess of this, dude._  
  
"So... _what's wrong_? You've hardly said anything since you picked me up, man – are you getting sick of having me around, or something, because I can go – "  
  
"No! No, dude, seriously... it's like, the total opposite of that."  
  
"I – I don't get it."  
  
Joe took a deep breath and rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand. "Your mom, um... she kind of told me about you wanting to go to college in Massachusetts."  
  
"So? I'm not gonna get in. There's _no way_ that place is taking me."  
  
"But like, you'll still go _somewhere_."  
  
"So will you..."  
  
"Well – yeah, dude, maybe, but like... she thinks you'll get tired of not being able to see each other a lot and like – "  
  
"I don't _care_ what she thinks!"   
  
"Yeah," Joe huffed miserably, with a limp shrug of his shoulders, "but what if she's right or something?"  
  
Sighing, Patrick leaned forward and propped both elbows on the table, scrunching his fingers into his hair. "I seriously wish you'd never gone."  
  
"I was trying to fix things..."  
  
"Yeah? Well, don't you see what she did? Now you're doubting that any of this is worth the trouble because you think we're just gonna break up as soon as we live more than three miles away from each other!"  
  
"No, I'm not – I just kind of... I don't know, dude. I've been trying to pretend it doesn't have to happen, and now, like... well, it's going to, and we're gonna like, have to think of a way of fixing it or something because... I really, _really_ don't want her to be right."  
  
"Joe..." Patrick sat up and reached around Joe's plate to brush his hand, "we won't even be going for almost a year."  
  
"Yeah, but that's just gonna make it worse, dude. We've been together like three months and... you know, like, how I feel and everything and I don't want you to get bored of me not being there and go find someone else."  
  
"How do you know you won't be the one who finds somebody else cooler?"  
  
"There isn't anyone, though," Joe argued, because the prospect of there being anyone on the face of the Earth more awesome than Patrick was a fucking joke. He looked at the pale hand clutching his, scrawled with faded blue ink reminding him to re-organise the Classical Section, and squeezed it tighter; Patrick pushed his chair back and got up, gesturing for Joe to move back from the table. He sat himself sideways on Joe's lap and wrapped both arms around him tightly.  
  
"We'll be okay," he mumbled into his shoulder. "I kind of had to fight for you, dude, I'm not gonna quit that easily. If I didn't plan on keeping you I wouldn't have bothered."  
  
Joe crushed him so hard Patrick wriggled to make him let go slightly.   
  
" _Please_ tell me we're gonna be okay, and you're not, y'know: gonna just cut your losses or something..."  
  
"As if I'd have the balls, dude."  
  
Patrick laughed affectionately and kissed him on the cheek and temple. "You've got bigger balls than most dudes I know, if you fronted up my mom."  
  
"She gave me chocolate milk."  
  
"Oh no..." he snickered.   
  
"She really like, thinks you're a baby, though..."  
  
"No, really? I hadn't noticed that in the last seventeen and a half years."  
  
"She really, like... she doesn't understand you being into both, dude. But she really wants you home. I kind of like... I just think she panicked when you told her. When I said that like, everyone knew about us, and that you had those stickers on your name tag and stuff, she was all sad and I felt really bad, basically. Like I was rubbing salt in the wound or something."  
  
"She doesn't trust me to know who I am, though, Joe and I just... I'm not gonna keep explaining myself to her, y'know? She can take it or leave it, but until she gets the message that I'm dating a guy and I'm totally cool with that - I'm _happy_ with that – she can get lost."  
  
"You didn't seem that happy this week, though, dude..."  
  
Patrick frowned at him a little and put his hand on the side of Joe's face as if to make sure he was paying attention. "Hey," he began, softly, "I'd have been a lot worse if I hadn't, y'know: been here. If I'd had to go to my dad's – "  
  
"Yeah, but it's because of me you're like, here at all, man."  
  
"I chose that, though. You know I did. I could have stayed and dealt with her stupid ideas but I have to make a point, y'know? I'm not five."  
  
"Do you think she's like... maybe a tiny bit right about us being kind of young?" Joe asked carefully, rubbing Patrick's back.  
  
"Too young for what? Dating? No. _Hell no_. Too young to be kind of doing stuff? No. It's not like we even rushed into that..."  
  
"I guess."  
  
Patrick sighed and pulled Joe closer so his head was pressed to Patrick's chest, stroking his hair. "She really shook you up, didn't she?"  
  
"No... she just got me thinking..."  
  
"Well don't. Bad things happen when you think about stuff. Like almost not getting together."  
  
Joe laughed a little and kissed him until Patrick pulled away and half-whispered, "When's your mom home?"  
  
"Uh... her class finishes in forty minutes or something," Joe muttered, squinting at the clock on the oven. "But she has to collect Sam."  
  
"You want to go upstairs?"  
  
"What f –" Joe began, as Patrick stood up and tried to pull him up by his wrists, but then realised what he meant. " _Oh_. Um. Do we have time?"  
  
"You're kind of over-estimating yourself, man."  
  
"Well, I don't wanna like, rush it – it's not like we've practised or anything..." But he let himself be tugged to his feet anyway. "And I mean – I don't, like... I don't have all the stuff..."  
  
"Because _obviously_ , I was gonna leave it at my house for my mom to find."  
  
By the time the front door opened and Sam's footsteps hammered up the stairs and Joe's mom's voice called, "Joey, we're home, honey!" they were practically asleep.  
  
\---  
  
Late the next night, laying sprawled on top of Joe in his single bed after their third ever show, Patrick shook him a little and whispered, "Joe?"  
  
"Mmph?"  
  
"I think I'm gonna go home tomorrow."  
  
Joe blinked his eyes open and squinted at him in the dark. "You don't like, have to, or anything..." _And I'm like, seriously getting used to having you around here every night and every morning when I get up and that is totally selfish and I don't even care._  
  
"No, I know..."  
  
"You want to?"  
  
"I kind of feel like I should at least _try_ or something, y'know?"  
  
"Okay," Joe whispered, kissing him on the cheek and closing his eyes.  
  
"Will you come with me?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Will you come with me? When I go home, dude – it'd be really cool if you came with me. Even for like, a couple of hours, or something."  
  
"Sure, man. Anything."  
  
Patrick wriggled around and buried his face in Joe's neck, settling down to sleep. "Thanks," he whispered.  
  
Joe lay awake for a long time, after, trying to decide if he was glad or not.


	12. Things I'll Never Finish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe saw him first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _ **Note from 2007**_  
>  I've been listening to a lot of non-FOB stuff lately which has really clicked for me with this fic, so I might start using other band's lyrics to head up the chapters. Hope it's not too jarring.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _There will be a fan mix of all tracks referenced throughout the fic, once it is completed._

**The World's Not Waiting (For Joe Trohman to Stop Being a Pussy and Start Going For What He Wants)**  
_Part Twelve: Things I'll Never Finish  
  
"I always said you’d find me in over my head."_  
  
  
  
Once Patrick was home, a lot started to change. Firstly, his curfew was lifted (although there was an understanding that she'd really rather he was home before 1am, please) and secondly, they didn't spend every moment when they were at Patrick's house hidden away in the basement or his bedroom. A few times, they actually all sat down for a family meal with Patricia and Kevin and one night she even came down to the basement to bring them something to eat, and sat down and listened to the two of them playing some of their songs together.  
  
It was a little bit embarrassing, but the main thing was that she was being cool about them. Patrick seemed to have been instructed to leave his bedroom door ajar when they were in there together, but at least Joe wasn't banned from the house or anything. In fact, he was actually invited to spend Christmas with them seeing as his family didn't celebrate. It had been awkward, sure, what with both of Patrick's siblings and their partners there, plus his dad and stepmom and his mom's 'friend'.  
  
Everyone had wanted to ask him a million questions about things he really didn't know yet – like where he was going to college and what he wanted to do after school (and Kevin had choked, trying to conceal a laugh when he'd said he'd really like to be a musician, so Patrick had thrown a piece of bread at him and it had descended into a bitching argument which had been really embarrassing for both Joe and Kevin's girlfriend, Amelia – especially when Patricia had threatened to send them both home because if Patrick and Kevin couldn't behave like adults they weren't going to be treated like adults. At which point Patrick's father had swallowed a chunk of potato with a slight cough and asked, "He's _staying over_?" – which had resulted in a strop from Patrick because apparently he wasn't a baby, even if Joe had to admit that sometimes he acted like one).  
  
But all in all, things had settled down a lot. The only people who knew at Patrick's school were his two best friends there, Simon and Leon, but no one else really needed to know – and those who did know were at least _trying_ to be okay about it. So there was nothing to worry about, really. The only thing left to cast a shadow over their relationship was the prospect of college.  
  
Joe couldn't pretend it wasn't making him nervous. Every revision lesson in school reminded him that every day that passed was one day closer to being sent away from home, away from the band, and more importantly, away from Patrick; and it kind of made him feel sick. His entire life was, here, in the North Suburbs of Chicago, and when he'd applied for college he'd been too carried away by the idea of adventures and getting _away_ from all that. He hadn't even applied to North Park or DePaul, which he could have driven to every day and remained living at home. He hadn't had any real reason to want to stay in Chicago when he'd applied.  
  
He knew that he wasn't the only one worrying; Patrick kept _nearly_ bringing it up, and then backing away from the conversation before they could really get into the details. The fact that Pete had dropped out with one semester to go, announcing that he was going to focus on music instead, really only mounted pressure on both of them. It was okay for Pete, he never did what his parents expected of him and he had Arma to back him up; they were already releasing CDs and they'd toured a lot. But his primary excuse had been Fall Out Boy. If he was giving up college and they were leaving to _go_ to college in a few months, Pete had given up his education for nothing. It was his own fault, sure, but Joe could still remember the look he and Patrick had exchanged when Pete told them his plan. They both knew this was going to be a problem.  
  
\---  
  
"I'm starting to think that, y'know, maybe Pete's right," Patrick sighed one Saturday afternoon, sitting on the steps of the little bandstand on the green between the rail station at Hubbard Woods and the village shopping street on Green Bay Road. It was a nice day, for March – sunny and relatively mild, and they'd decided to sit there instead of in the coffee shop across the road for the sake of privacy.  
  
Patrick tipped his paper cup in Joe's direction, offering him some of his shake while Joe read the rejection letter in his hands for the fourth time. "Want?"  
  
"Huh?" Joe muttered, jerking his head back a little as the cup bumped his cheek. "Oh. Thanks." He took the drink and sipped it before handing it back and subtly tucking an arm around Patrick's waist. "I don't even know any more, dude... I don't understand how Luke can get in, but I can't."  
  
"Well, yeah, it's not like I know the guy as well as I know you – "  
  
"I totally hope you don't."  
  
" – but I mean, he doesn't seem too much of an academic, particularly."  
  
"He's not. But I guess I'm kind of... laidback about deadlines for homework and stuff, but like... I don't feel that it's a reason to not get into that college if he can."  
  
Patrick sighed and leaned on his shoulder for a moment, sitting up a little straighter as he caught sight of an older man getting out of his car a few yards away. "I'm sorry, dude..." he said gently, pressing their knees together instead. "But it's not the only one you applied to, right?"  
  
"Colorado State? No, it's not even my first choice, but like... _Luke got in_ , dude. It totally sucks."  
  
"Well, I'm still sure you're as smart as you are hot, okay?" Patrick assured him, with a grin.  
  
"That's more like an insult than a compliment, dude."  
  
"No, I'm serious – I think this is just a one off, y'know? And anyway, I want you to get into the one in Jersey so you might be near enough to Berklee if I can get in."  
  
"Yeah, I know, me too. But if I get in and you don't, that's gonna suck too."  
  
"Maybe we should just not go," Patrick snorted. "Live out of a van for the rest of our lives, playing shitty bars across the Midwest."  
  
"I would and everything, but like... I think your mom would pretty much kill me if you decided to do that."  
  
"I'd be the one she'd kill."  
  
Joe smirked a little and stole back the milkshake.  
  
"But y'know... what if we did that?"  
  
"Did what?"  
  
"What Pete's doing?"  
  
"Dropping out?!"  
  
"Well, I meant more like take a gap year or something. Give it a year to work out, and then if it doesn't, do the college thing, maybe? I dunno. _Something_ , anyway. And it'd mean we wouldn't be hundreds of miles apart, or anything."  
  
"That'd mean if we ever went, we'd already have been together like, two years or something, dude..."  
  
"Is that a bad thing?" Patrick asked with an awkward laugh.  
  
"No, but it's kind of weird, seeing as like, a year ago, I was avoiding you because of that book and everything, basically."  
  
"I can't believe it's already been a year since that happened..."  
  
"It seems like forever, to me. I mean, it sounds kind of dumb, but like, I feel like we've been together forever and it's just like a few months, really."  
  
Patrick shifted them hip to hip and tucked his own arm around Joe. "Everybody had to start somewhere. And I totally think we'll be together two years from now. I can't see any reason why we won't."  
  
"Except maybe college."  
  
"Then why are we going?"  
  
"Because I don't think your mom will be so happy with you fucking with your future for the sake of dating a dude who couldn't even get into a shitty college, basically."  
  
"She wasn't happy with me dating a dude, period. We fixed that."  
  
Joe grinned and kissed him quickly on the temple because yeah, they had pretty much fixed that, and _that_ – at one point – had been Patrick's worst fear. "So, I mean like... are we seriously thinking about just not going?"  
  
"I don't know... _are we_?"  
  
"Well. I guess."  
  
"Do you _want_ to not go?" Patrick asked, turning on the step and looking at him earnestly.  
  
"I don't want to _not_ not go."  
  
Patrick bit his lip and squished Joe's fingers. "That's Bambi-speak for 'yes', isn't it?"  
  
"Uhhhh..." Joe shrugged, still smiling and slightly embarrassed by the use of the petname he'd earned a couple of weeks before. They'd been looking for a film to watch while they babysat Sam, and Patrick had pointed at the screens in Blockbusters and nearly given himself a seizure laughing at how much the Disney fawn apparently looked and moved like Joe, now his buzz cut was growing out. Joe himself couldn't see it, but Andy thought it was hilarious and now it seemed to have stuck. "I guess I could maybe think that it would kind be okay. Maybe."  
  
"Seriously?"  
  
"It's a serious maybe," Joe teased, even though the idea was sounding better and better by the second.  
  
"My mom is so going to kill me for this," Patrick beamed, looking like he really couldn't give a shit if she strung him up like a piñata.  
  
"My dad's gonna spend my trust fund on a midlife crisis."  
  
\---  
  
Joe was still smiling when he got back from dropping Patrick home that evening. They hadn't set anything in stone, but they had ideas – big ideas – and if they came off, then it would be pretty cool. It had also left him feeling more confident than he'd ever been that he and Patrick were onto a good thing.  
  
"Evening, honey," his mother smiled, kissing him on the top of the head as he threw himself down beside her on the couch, Sam on her other side, and rested his head on her chest. "Where have you been all day? Patrick's?"  
  
"Nah, just like around, mostly."  
  
"Not getting into any trouble, I hope," his father asked from the easy chair, with a wry smile.  
  
"Yeah, actually, we mugged an old lady, ran down a mom with a buggy, and then like, went on a gun rampage at the kindergarten."  
  
" _Joseph_ , that is not funny," his mother scolded, tapping him on the side of the head with her fingertips, even though his father was chuckling quietly.  
  
"It's _Saturday_ ," Sam snorted. "There isn't kindergarten on Saturday. If you want to shoot them, do it on a school day, _stupid_."  
  
They all stared at Sam for a few moments before their mom carefully picked up the remote and turned off the action movie on TV.  
  
"So... like... Patrick's thinking about taking a year out or something, pretty much," Joe announced, mostly to break the silence and ensure they weren't both banned from movies and computer games for the rest of their lives.  
  
"A year out from what?" his father asked, getting out of his chair with a slight groan and turning the film back on. "Looking like he's wondering if I've noticed how thin the walls are?"  
  
"Dad!"  
  
"Patrick _sounds weird_ when he stays over," Sam added. "He snores like a cat when you scare it."  
  
Their mother cleared her throat and patted his shoulder, pulling him into a closer hug, "I'm sure he does... 'snore' like a cat, honey."  
  
_Oh my God, I am nevereverever having sex in this house again_. "SO, ANYWAY," Joe tried again, before this became any more embarrassing, "Patrick is thinking that he might, like, take a year out to work on the band, like Pete is."  
  
"Well, I'm not sure Patricia will be too happy for him to do that."  
  
"She so won't. It's gonna be kind of like world war three at their house, when he tells her, basically, but like, if he decides to she won't be able to stop him or anything."  
  
"Are you trying to tell us something, son?"  
  
"Um... no?"  
  
"Hmm."  
  
"I'm not, but like... if I can't get into any of my colleges anyway, I won't have a choice."  
  
"Oh, Joey – it was just one rejection, sweetheart – "  
  
"Yeah, but like... I kind of don't mind if I don't go."  
  
" _I_ mind if you don't go," his father teased, "because it means you'll be here under my feet for at least another year. I've been waiting seventeen years to get rid of the first one. I've still got another five before Rambo Junior over there flies the nest. Or gets locked up for shooting four year olds... whichever comes first. Couldn't you give an old man a break?"  
  
"You are welcome in this house for as long as you want to be here, honey, but if you don't go to college, you'll have to get a job and pay some housekeeping each week or you'll never learn to budget or take care of yourself."  
  
"I can totally take care of myself!"  
  
"You've never worked a day in your life," his father scoffed. "Knowing how to put a frozen pizza in the oven doesn't make you a grown up."  
  
"No, but like... what if I did think about not going?" Joe asked, pinging his wristband nervously.  
  
"We'll see. You're not spending a year slobbing around at home. If you defer, you defer for a reason and you achieve something with your time. But like I said, we'll see."  
  
\---  
  
A few days later, as they stood in the back room after a show, Patrick in the middle of peeling off a sodden t-shirt and towelling himself down, Pete – who had been accosted on the way off the stage – bounced in, followed by Andy, and grabbed them both in a headlock under each arm.  
  
"Dudes. This is totally fucking awesome."  
  
"Getting to feel up my boyfriend while he's half naked?" Joe asked, twisting to avoid a punch in the ribs from Patrick.  
  
"I can feel up your boyfriend any time I want, kind of," Pete told him, earning himself a swing to his own stomach. "Ow, you little _fucker_! I'm trying to give you some good news, or whatever, chill the fuck out."  
  
"Then get off of me."  
  
"Okay, okay, take a joke, man. Jesus."  
  
Patrick lifted Pete's arm from around his neck as Joe wriggled free, and started to pull on a clean t-shirt. "So, what's the big deal?"  
  
"We've been propositioned."  
  
"Well, _Patrick_ just was, anyway," Joe muttered, making a point of putting his hands on Patrick's waist as he sidled past to get his rucksack.  
  
"You know how like, Project Rocket are putting out the EP, or whatever?"  
  
"Um, yeah?" Patrick shrugged. "That's the split one, right?"  
  
"Yeah," Andy nodded, pulling out a chair and sitting on it backward. "The guy behind it wants it to be a split EP, to showcase both bands."  
  
"Which 'both bands'?" Joe asked, around a can of Coke.  
  
Pete looked at him like he was insane or stupid or both. "Um. Them and us, obviously."  
  
"What?"  
  
Andy grinned at them, "He wants Fall Out Boy to share the EP with Project Rocket. Three songs each."  
  
"Seriously?!"  
  
"Are you like, jerking our chains or something?" Joe asked suspiciously, even though April Fools was three weeks away.  
  
"No, he's serious," Andy assured them with a grin.  
  
"Well, _shit_ ," Patrick mumbled in disbelief, adjusting his hat. "We're gonna do it, right?"  
  
"Fuck, yes we're gonna do it!" Pete laughed.  
  
Andy shrugged. "The label wanting to do it are pretty decent. I think there's no reason we shouldn't, it just means we'll need to work pretty fast. It's supposed to be released in like three months."  
  
"Well, I mean – wait. We can't put the stuff we're doing now on a CD. This isn't the best we can do. We can do way better than this," Patrick babbled suddenly, almost sounding like he was having a panic attack. "We need to get writing again. We need to write more – _better_ – songs for this."  
  
"I kind of like _Switchblades_ ," Joe admitted, even though he knew it was about Patrick's last crush, the girl with the crayons, dating someone else. He'd been a little put out when he'd first heard, but he was over that, now; he'd been the one Patrick was with on Valentine's Day (Patrick had bought him a vintage-style Star Wars lunch tin, although he hadn't admitted it until Joe awkwardly handed him a card and an authentic 1973 Aladdin Sane gatefold vinyl his aunt had found in her collection while moving house; Joe had suspected it was probably worth about a billion dollars but she was pretty loaded and he kept the Thin Lizzy for himself, so he didn't mind giving it to Patrick. It was worth it just to see his jaw drop, and he'd left Patrick's house so thoroughly thanked that his mother asked if he was high when he got in).  
  
"We can keep _Switchblades_ , that's passable – but c'mon. If we're gonna do this we need to make a good impression."  
  
"The songs we have were good enough for demos, or whatever," Pete reminded him, folding his arms. "Do you want to do this or not?"  
  
"Of course I want to do this, man – I just want it to be really amazing when we put something out there for people to hear, y'know?"  
  
"We've got a couple of weeks," Andy shrugged, standing up. "We should see what we can do, and if nothing happens, just use the best of what we have."  
  
The others nodded slowly; it was better than nothing.  
  
\---  
  
"So, I guess... I should maybe talk to my mom, or something," Patrick said carefully on the way home, looking over at Joe.  
  
"About college?"  
  
"Yeah. I mean, I guess I'm going to stick around here."  
  
Nodding, Joe pulled over into the parking lot for the country club between Glenview and Winnetka, virtually abandoned this late on a Wednesday night, and probably an okay place to talk.  
  
Patrick unbuckled his seat belt and shifted to look at him. "You feeling any more certain, yet?"  
  
For a moment or two, Joe just sat there, weighing up the reality of potentially not going to school at the end of the summer; and then the possibility of actually _going_ and what that would mean.  
  
"Joe?"  
  
"I think... like...." He trailed off with a sigh.  
  
"What? What do you think?"  
  
"I think this is like, a good enough excuse for my mom and dad to say it's cool if I take some time off."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah," Joe nodded, shifting over to the edge of his seat and putting an arm around him. "I guess you're stuck with me for a while, after all, dude."  
  
Patrick grinned and leaned his head on Joe's shoulder. "I think I can handle it, maybe."  
  
"Are you gonna like, tell your mom right away?"  
  
"No, but I'm not letting Pete in the house until I did."  
  
Laughing, Joe ducked down and kissed him briefly, falling into a tight hug with his chin resting on Patrick's shoulder. "Does this make us, like, professional musicians or something?"  
  
"It means I don't have to worry about letting you out of might sight long enough for you to forget about my boring ass, back home."  
  
"Your ass is pretty much like, anything but boring dude, trust me," Joe tutted, gnawing playfully on Patrick's shoulder and trying to tuck one hand down the back of his pants. "You need to quit worrying. Seriously."  
  
Patrick laughed and squirmed, pushing him off a little, but not far enough away that couldn't reach. "You're such a creep. But hey: I _can_ quit, now. We're staying, right?"  
  
Joe sighed theatrically. "Well, I _guess_ , dude, but I might kind of like rethink that if you're just gonna like, cock-block me anyway..."  
  
Rolling his eyes, Patrick leaned in to kiss him again, letting Joe nuzzle his cheek and neck mumbling, "Joe..." when his hand returned to its previous mission of trying to grope his ass; then a little more urgently, " _Joe_ – " as he pulled it back and ran it across his thigh.  
  
"I know."  
  
"Oh God..." Patrick gasped, writhing backward a little.  
  
"Here? Seriously?"  
  
"NO, dude, you seriously don't –"  
  
There was a sudden tap at the driver's window which nearly scared the crap out of him; he jumped so hard his head bumped the roof as he turned around and Patrick scrambled back into his seat.  
  
Outside the glass was a stern-looking older man with a flashlight who seemed to do a double-take when he realised it wasn't a blushing teenage girl in the passenger seat.  
  
"Son, I think it might be time to take the young lady home," he said through the window, arching an eyebrow. "I wouldn't like to have the both of you taken home in a police car. Now, scoot, go on."  
  
_Oh my God, every single fucking time!_  
  
"Um – sorry, sir, just... just kind of got a little carried away..."  
  
"I'd rather not know the details."  
  
"Sorry..." Patrick called, waving awkwardly and hurriedly buckling his seatbelt. "Dude, let's get out of here," he hissed. "This is so not going to help my case with my mom."  
  
\---  
  
It was Friday night that Patrick decided to tell his mom. It hit Joe completely out of left-field because they hadn't discussed it any further, and then suddenly, sitting in the kitchen that evening, he pretty much just came out with it.  
  
"Did you get any letters back from colleges, yet?" Patricia asked Joe over a supper of spaghetti which had struck fear into the heart of him because he totally knew he was going to get it all over his shirt, his face... the kitchen in general...  
  
"Um... yeah, like, a couple."  
  
"You don't sound too happy with that..."  
  
Joe cleared his throat and cast Patrick a sidelong look. "Well, I dunno. One was a rejection, one was an acceptance, so it's not too bad, I guess."  
  
"Oh, well, I'm sure the right one will come along. Patrick's already received an acceptance to Miami, haven't you, honey? He was really excited about the composition and production course they run down there."  
  
"I don't want to go to Miami," Patrick huffed, tearing up some garlic bread. "I told you that."  
  
"Well, you did when you applied, and either way, it's a good start."  
  
"I kind of don't need _any_ start, though."  
  
"Well, you have to go somewhere, don't you?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Don't be facetious."  
  
"I'm not being facetious. I'm not going."  
  
"Well, I'm not forcing you to choose Miami – you wouldn't last in the sun down there, you need to go somewhere – "  
  
"I don't. I'm not going anywhere. Not Miami, not Boston. Nowhere, mom, okay?"  
  
Joe kind of hoped that if he shut up and ate his food, he'd somehow become invisible and not get the blame for this.  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"We're not going to college, mom. We're staying in Chicago and focusing on the band. We're doing the EP and then we'll need to tour more and build a fanbase and start working on an album or something maybe, and we can't do that if we're on the other side of the country."  
  
"Oh, no you're not."  
  
"Oh, yes I am."  
  
"Patrick, you are _not_ throwing away your education for a band that isn't going to get you anywhere. You can go to college, learn the skills which will enable you to make something of yourself, and then you can make all the music you want, okay?"  
  
"No. No, mom, it's _not_ okay! I'm eighteen in six weeks. I'm practically a legal adult and I'm making my own decisions. It's only for a year. If it doesn't work out, I can go back next year and start college."  
  
"Oh, no, no – if you leave education now, you will never go back. You're going to college in September, and that is the end of the discussion. I won't let you ruin your life on some ridiculous notion that you're going to be the next Bay City Rollers."  
  
"We're not going to be 'the next Bay City Rollers', we're going to be _good_."  
  
Joe barely contained a snicker.  
  
"Mom, we already have this guy putting out the EP – we have a chance at this, and I don't want to fu... I mean, screw it up by moving away to do a course I probably won't even need! There's one guy who works at a venue who says he'll help me get into doing sound teching and there's no better way to learn about the music industry than _being in it_ – "  
  
"Pretending you know what you're doing is _not_ convincing me, Patrick. Look at your father! He's was a very talented young man, and maybe if he'd taken his career a little more seriously and taken his time to attain some qualifications, then maybe he would have been a little more successful."  
  
"But I'm not dad, mom! And you can't _make me_ go to college! I'm old enough to make my own decisions, now – I thought you'd figured that out already when you got over me and Joe - !"  
  
"If you want to be an adult, Patrick, you behave like one. In fact, if you're so convinced you're an adult and you can make your own decisions, you can decide between going to college and having a home to come back to between semesters, or you packing your things and leaving the day you graduate. We'll see how long you can manage as a grown-up."  
  
"You know what?" Patrick exploded, getting up and knocking over his stool. "FINE! _Whatever_. I'll go now." He picked up his dish and threw it in the sink, where it smashed against the edge and fell in a messy, broken pile of spaghetti, meat balls and shattered ceramic.  
  
"Oh, so I assume you're just going to invite yourself to stay with Joe's family again, are you? That's _very_ mature of you, Patrick. And you can _clean that up_ before you leave this house, do you hear me?"  
  
Joe suspected that Patrick didn't care much either way, because he was halfway up the stairs, leaving Joe sitting uncomfortably in the kitchen, prodding at his meal and wondering whether he should follow him or stay and wait for him to come back down. Judging by the sound of things slamming around in Patrick's room, it was probably safer to wait downstairs with a horrible sense of déjà vu.  
  
\---  
  
Even hours later, while they were washing up to get ready for bed, brushing their teeth in the bathroom, Patrick was still totally seething. He barely held himself back from throwing the toothpaste across the room when he couldn't get any to stay on the brush because his hands were shaking.  
  
Joe just sighed gently and tugged them both out of his grasp, putting the paste on the brush and sticking the whole ensemble in his mouth; he stopped short of actually brushing his teeth for him.  
  
"You can chill out, you know... mom and dad are like, totally happy to have you here," he assured him as Patrick rinsed. "It's cool and everything. I promise."  
  
"I can't just stay here forever, Joe. It's like totally proving her point. I have to do this by myself – and yeah, maybe I can stay here for a few days or something, but y'know: I'm _not_ going to college. Probably not ever, now, and I have to show her I can stand on my own two feet, otherwise it's like proving I'm still a baby."  
  
"No, I know," Joe nodded, perching on the edge of the bath and rubbing his back, "but – "  
  
"She stated her terms, man."  
  
"Well, like I said and everything: we want to keep you, dude, but if you give it a few days and stuff – kind of cool off, basically – maybe she'll calm down like she did before and see reason or something."  
  
"You know what? Even if I go back until I finish school, I'm pretty much done with living at home. When we're not fighting, I love my mom, y'know? But I just can't stick around to wait and see what she's going to try to control next. I've gotta move out, even if that means getting like, two jobs or something and renting my own place. I just... I've got to."  
  
"My mom and dad –"  
  
"Joe, I love your family. They're _awesome_. But I've got to do this for myself."  
  
Joe nodded slowly; this part he knew he wouldn't be able to talk Patrick out of. "Okay. I guess that like, maybe we can figure something out or whatever, but let's just go to bed, right now... Work it out tomorrow. We've got at least the weekend, right?"  
  
Patrick nodded and turned to hug him tight, as Joe looked up at him. "Yeah... I guess."  
  
"Dude, we'll work something out, okay? I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Title of the chapter from 'Even If It Kills Me' by Motion City Soundtrack._  
>  Quote from 'Abandon Ship or Abandon All Hope' by Four Year Strong


	13. Thank Your Lucky Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe saw him first.
> 
> * * *
> 
> **_Note from 2008_**  
>  This chapter almost never happened. It was born from a 'deleted scene' from the text which will be chapter fourteen, which I showed to [LJ's] heyginger who then convinced me it needed to exist. Ultimately, this is a bonus chapter written, for the most part, in the space of two days.
> 
> Chapter fourteen is being reworked to accommodate some information which was shifted around a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the end of this fic are some references to a show called Mork & Mindy. For those who are young enough to make me feel old too young to remember the show (even as reruns in the 1990s), Mork was a mildly insane alien from the planet Ork, played by Robin Williams. He arrived on Earth in a space craft shaped like an egg and drank through his finger. It'll all make sense in about 7,000 words time, I promise.

**The World's Not Waiting (For Joe Trohman to Stop Being a Pussy and Start Going For What He Wants)**  
 _Part Thirteen: Thank Your Lucky Stars  
  
"Forever is not that far from here."_  
  
  
  
Late on the Saturday night before Patrick's eighteenth birthday, Joe was slumped in the corner of the couch in the living room, his feet on his mom's lap, watching the credits roll on a film on TV that he'd lost interest in after the first half hour. Sam had insisted on staying up to watch it, and then fallen asleep at the other end of the couch, snoring. It was kind of depressing. Saturday night, and he was hanging out with his mom and dad while his boyfriend spent _another_ weekend hanging out with Pete so they could 'write more'. Every time he thought about it a sharp pain radiated through his chest and made him cringe, so he'd been trying not to. But he couldn't help it. Patrick was supposed to call.  
  
 _An hour ago._  
  
An hour and eight minutes ago, actually, because it was well after eleven, now, according to the clock on the TV.  
  
"Son, what are you waiting for?"  
  
Joe looked over at his father and mumbled, "Huh?"  
  
"You've checked the time repeatedly – what are you waiting for? A bus?"  
  
"Oh..." Joe could feel himself blushing. He was reluctant to admit that he'd been stood up by his own boyfriend. "It's nothing... I should just like, go to bed or something."  
  
"Before midnight? You don't even go to bed before midnight when you have school!" his father laughed. "What's the matter?"  
  
"Nothing, Dad, it's fine."  
  
"Aren't you seeing Patrick this weekend, honey?" Joe's mother asked, smoothing absently at Sam's hair while he slept.   
  
"Nope."  
  
She rubbed his shin sympathetically, looking a little anxious. "Is everything okay? You just seemed a little miserable lately and Patrick hasn't set foot in the house in two weeks..."  
  
"He's busy. For the band."  
  
"Well, you're in the band, too. Why aren't you being busy with the band?"  
  
"I don't write lyrics, basically. They're like, writing better songs for the EP and this album that guy was talking about."  
  
"Every day?" his father cut in dubiously, holding his hand out for the remote.  
  
"No, but Patrick still has to work and stuff... and I see him when we play shows. I saw him on Monday." _Even though I got like, one kiss the whole night because there were more bands than backstage rooms and we had some assholes sharing with us who totally thought it was funny to call each other 'fags'. And I sound so totally pathetic, right now. Seriously. I can't even get my boyfriend to spend time with me, how lame can I get?_ "Actually, I think I'm gonna go upstairs and just like, work on the posters Pete wanted me to make, or something..."   
  
He made a quick exit. When even his father thought there was something wrong with their current arrangement, he knew it really had to suck. And frankly, it kind of did. He hardly got to see Patrick at all, lately. There were calls sometimes, late at night, if Patrick got home from their writing sessions before midnight. They'd just talk about nothing in particular until Patrick couldn't stay awake any longer, or he fell asleep, which had happened more than once. Joe wasn't sure that was a good thing or something he should be really uncomfortable with – especially when, two weeks before Patrick's birthday, Pete broke up with his girlfriend.  
  
The thing was, he'd been able to hold it together and brush it off when they were spending entire weekends ensconced in Pete's basement, writing 'better' lyrics for the EP – they did need to do that and for the sake of the band Joe would pretty much allow them anything; but spending so much time together didn't seem to have stopped. In fact, in the last few weeks, things had been gradually creeping back to the way they were right before Joe and Patrick had started dating. _Dude, I can't make it – I said I'd go hang out with Pete. He's having girl trouble, y'know? But I'll call you. I promise._  
  
He never forgot to call these days, if he promised he would (even if he called and then fell asleep in the middle of the conversation) – but he never told Joe what he and Pete talked about, beyond, "Y'know: stuff," and he passed up on shifts at work at least four times in two weeks, to spend it with Pete. And that had resulted in their reluctance to give him time off for the tour they had planned for the summer and was going to force him into quitting a job he actually enjoyed, in a couple of months' time. It was dumb and Joe had been a little frustrated with him – but he never said anything because he didn't want to seem like he was nagging or paranoid. Even if really he kind of was. The thing was, when he had Patrick's full attention, Joe could forget about Pete; and that must mean that he was jealous. And nobody liked a jealous boyfriend.  
  
It was just that it was so rare for him to have Patrick's time and attention, lately, that he didn't really know how to be anything else. He _missed him_. He missed spending whole weekends watching movies in the den, or going to shows where they weren't on the bill themselves, or actually writing _music_ , because Joe was perfectly capable of that, thanks; and he really, really missed Patrick sleeping over, or staying at Patrick's. He thought they'd decided to quit education so they could spend more time together, not less.  
  
Joe was just playing around with Photoshop on his computer, trying to start making something Pete would approve of, when his cell started vibrating on the bedside cabinet. He jumped out of his seat, almost tripping on the strap of his rucksack, and grabbed at it, answering as quickly as humanly possible. He felt twice as lame as he had downstairs, glad that no one had seen his desperate scramble. Maybe, just once, he should make a point of not answering – but he was afraid that if he did that, Patrick might think he didn't care anymore.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Finally! It's me. Hey. Where have you been?"  
  
Joe blinked and frowned at his Star Wars alarm clock. "Huh?"  
  
"I've called like five times."  
  
"...no, you didn't."  
  
"I left voicemail messages! Didn't you check your cell?"  
  
"My cell?" _Oh my God, I am such a moron. I am a total fucking_ idiot. "Shit, dude, I'm sorry... I didn't even think to take it downstairs... we were watching a movie."  
  
"Oh... I figured it was late and if I called your house phone your dad would make some smartass comment or something..."  
  
Joe laughed a little, softly, feeling like he had been torturing himself over nothing after all. He was clearly a _total_ chick. "Yeah, he totally would have... I'm sorry, dude. I was wondering what happened, and everything, I just never thought about my cell. You always call on the house line..."  
  
"Doesn't matter, now, I got you in the end... I just kind of didn't want to go to bed without saying goodnight or something, y'know?"  
  
The sharp pains in Joe's chest were replaced by a little flutter of happiness. He wished Patrick wasn't on the other end of the phone line, but that seemed to be all he had lately, so he'd better learn to appreciate it. "I'm glad you tried again..."  
  
"I'm glad you picked up, finally."  
  
He could totally picture the wry grin on Patrick's face. "So, how are you?"  
  
"Ugh. Drained, dude. I swear, between trying to make sense of Pete's relationship issues on paper and trying to make sense of them while he bitches, I feel like I'm the one she was fucking around on."  
  
Joe snorted. "Yeah... I can imagine."  
  
"So, how are you?"  
  
"Bored."  
  
"How come?"  
  
"I dunno... maybe because my boyfriend is like, busy being Jerry Springer and my best friends all have better things to do, basically. Or hey, maybe I just miss homework."  
  
There was a short pause on the line. "If it's any consolation, _being_ Jerry Springer is like scooping my eyes out with a spork and eating them."  
  
Joe laughed, but it came out a little dry and cynical-sounding.   
  
"I do _miss you_ , you know," Patrick's voice said softly, sounding a little hurt that Joe might assume otherwise.  
  
"All you have to do is like, tell him you can't come over one night, if you wanna see me or something, dude. I'm always here..."  
  
"I know," Patrick sighed, the breath sounding like a crackled whoosh on the line. "I just think that Pete would take it personally, y'know? He's feeling pretty fragile and writing is therapeutic; I'm kind of worried about him. He's taking the whole thing pretty hard."  
  
"I guess..." Joe was sure he sounded like a spoilt brat, wanting all the attention, but Pete and the girl broke up at least once a month. If he wasn't getting used to it by now then maybe he should stop dating her altogether.  
  
"So – hey, it's my birthday this week," Patrick reminded him cheerfully, after a long pause.  
  
"I know. Have you like, figured out what you want, yet?"  
  
"I want to see you."  
  
"Sure. If Pete doesn't like, have a problem with it or something..."  
  
"Hey – it's my birthday, Pete can fuck off."  
  
"What's that, like your gift from Pete is to be given freedom for a day or something, basically?"  
  
"Yeah, you haven't seen me because he keeps me in a tower and the only way you can get in is by climbing up my hair. Except don't try that because enough of it comes out without anyone pulling it, already."  
  
"Is it getting any worse?" Joe asked, feeling bad. Patrick always turned the things about himself that made him self-conscious into jokes, but Joe had been the one he asked to examine the back of his scalp to see if he was missing anything when he noticed that his hairline seemed to be changing. Joe had even shaved his head for him (under close supervision from his mother, who was usually responsible for shaving Joe and Sam's hair) because he felt bad for never having told him sooner. He knew that the last thing Patrick found it was funny.  
  
"I don't think it's gonna _stop_ getting worse, dude."  
  
"It's not really a big deal, though... I still think you're awesome."  
  
Patrick laughed, but he didn't sound convinced. "Thanks."  
  
"So, do you have plans or anything? For like, your birthday or something."  
  
"Well, I thought it'd be cool to do something that isn't a show, for a change, y'know? I figured we could go bowling or something, maybe."  
  
"What, just us, or...?"  
  
"No, I meant all my friends."  
  
"Okay. But... do you wanna stay over?"  
  
"I always _want_ to stay over, it's just y'know: sometimes I can't."  
  
"So... no?"  
  
"That's not what I said, Joe, c'mon."  
  
"Sorry... I just want to have some like, quality time or something, dude. Like, not having a million people around us. Or Pete."  
  
"Okay, I'll stay over. I might have to leave early, though – don't know if I have work, yet."  
  
"If you do, I'll give you a ride to the store."  
  
"Right. Okay. Deal."  
  
"Awesome," Joe said, and he was smiling for the first time all day. It was kind of ridiculous how happy just the _thought_ of spending time with Patrick made him. "So, what _do you_ want for your birthday?"  
  
"I don't know, dude," Patrick yawned back at him with a sleepy murmur. "You don't have to get me anything..."  
  
"But there has to be like, something you _want_ though, right?"  
  
"Not that I'd expect anybody to buy me, man... I kind of have bigger problems than what I want for my birthday, y'know?"  
  
"Is your mom still not letting up?"  
  
"Nope. I'm still out the day I finish high school. I don't even know what I'm gonna do, Joe."  
  
" _Stay with us_!"  
  
"Dude, we've been over this like a million times already..."  
  
"Because you _should_."  
  
"Maybe I should, but if I do that I'm just proving her point, y'know? She thinks I don't know what I'm doing and I can't take care of myself, and so if I come stay with you and your mom and dad are basically keeping me, that means she's right."  
  
"I get that, dude, but even for a while – like, until you've figured something out for the long-term..."  
  
"Listen, I'll think about it, okay? But right now it pisses me off to think about it, and after the day I've spent listening to Pete's problems, I kind of want to forget my own, because right now I'm going to have the suckiest birthday in history."  
  
It was long after Patrick had hung up, and all the lights were off, that Joe figured out what he was going to buy him. If his mom would negotiate a temporary loan on her credit card, that was.  
  
\---  
  
"So, what did you get him in the end?" Andy asked, trying to lift a corner of the wrapping and peek inside.  
  
"A book," Joe shrugged, knowing that Andy was going to find it hilarious.  
  
"A book? This thing is a book? It weighs more than my dog!"  
  
"Probably like, cost more than your van, dude."  
  
"Seriously?!"  
  
Joe nodded, peering through his windshield to see if anyone else had arrived at the venue for the night's festivities – a bowling alley and occasional music venue in Maplewood, where they were due to congregate and hang out before getting some food at a cheap Cuban restaurant down the street. " _Seriously_."  
  
"How much?"  
  
"A lot."  
  
"Why are you hiding it?"  
  
"Because you'll freak out, basically."  
  
"Over a book?"  
  
"It's a seriously expensive book, dude."  
  
Andy eyed him suspiciously. "What are you trying to prove? Is it because he's been spending all the time at Pete's? Because of the writing."  
  
"No."  
  
"Right. Suuuuure. I've seen some of the looks you've been giving the guy, recently, Joe. I'm not stupid. It's pissing you off that they're spending so much time together."  
  
"I bought him the book because he _wanted the book_ , man," Joe argued impatiently, not wanting to make it sound like Patrick had asked for something so expensive for his birthday, because he really, really hadn't. "It was like, way more than he could afford, especially if he needs to move out of home in a couple of months... but he's been freaking out over it since they got it in stock, and I just figured if anything is gonna like, make him feel better about stuff right now, that's probably it."  
  
Andy just nodded to himself silently for a moment, before muttering, "Well, I hope he appreciates it."  
  
"Yeah," Joe nodded back, although he was starting to feel less convinced, "of course he will, dude."  
  
By the time the others showed up, he was thinking of leaving it in the car and maybe giving it to him when they were alone, in case he didn't like it or thought it was stupid. It would be seriously embarrassing if he opened it in front of all the others and was disappointed. However much it cost, it was just a book... hardly the kind of thing that got most eighteen year old dudes in punk bands excited. The only reason he took it inside with him was that Andy thought he'd forgotten it and handed it to him at the door.  
  
Patrick beamed when he saw Joe walking over, waiting by the front desk with Pete, Chris, Simon, Leon and another kid from school. He must have changed at work because he wasn't in his uniform, but his denim jacket had a large, round '18 Today!' badge on the pocket. They couldn't exactly kiss each other in the middle of a bowling alley, so they settled for a hug, only to be met with a chorus of, "Get a room!" and a weird look from the kid Joe didn't know.  
  
"Happy birthday, dude," Joe grinned, squeezing his wrist subtly; Patrick smiled back with his lip pinched between his teeth and tickled Joe's palm with his fingertips as he let go.   
  
"Thanks."  
  
It was quite possibly one of the most frustrating moments of Joe's life.  
  
"So, can we get a lane before you two forget what we came here for, kind of?" Pete smirked, grabbing Patrick's shoulder and steering him over toward the counter.  
  
"Can I even open my presents first?!"  
  
"No, dude – wait until we get to the lane and we have someplace to dump our shit. Jesus. You're like a five year old!"  
  
A few minutes later, sitting in their little corner of the alley, at the far end, Pete finally decreed that it was okay for Patrick to start opening his presents, now, but that he had to open Pete's present first. Leaning subtly against Joe on the bench, Patrick rolled his eyes and held out a hand for the shoddily wrapped parcel.  
  
Joe watched as Patrick yanked off the paper and Pete crowed, "This is seriously the coolest present you're ever gonna get, man."  
  
"What, d'you buy me a lifetime supply of ice, or something?"  
  
"Nope. Better."  
  
Patrick snorted and shook his head, then looked down at the dark blue folder in his hand. Joe leaned forward to peer over his shoulder, one hand resting inconspicuously on his waist.  
  
"...What..? What the fuck _is_ this?"  
  
"It's a star, dude. I told you I was gonna make you a star, so now, Patrick Stumph is a star!" he announced proudly and Joe kind of wondered where all the angst had gone.  
  
"You bought me a star?"  
  
"Well, it's not like you can keep it in your yard and feed it carrots, or whatever, but yeah, dude – I got you a fucking star! Is that not the coolest fucking present you ever had?"  
  
Patrick shook his head and started laughing, looking up at him. "Yeah. Yeah, it's as cheesy as fuck, but yeah, it's the coolest present I ever had." He got to his feet to give him a hug and Joe looked away, fingering the tape on the gift on his lap. "Thanks, Pete. That's... really thoughtful... _for you_. Thanks. I seriously hope this wasn't insanely expensive or something, though, y'know? I hate when people spend a whole bunch of money on me, because it's seriously not necessary or anything. My grandparents do it every single year, even though I tell them not to... And I mean – this is a _star_."  
  
 _No, it's a worthless bunch of paper that cost like, twenty-five bucks online. I've fucking seen them! All you're actually getting is a crapload of like, paper and pictures and shit. How is that the coolest gift ever?_  
  
"Nothing's too good for the Rickster," Pete assured him smugly, keeping an arm around his shoulders and pointing out where the star was supposed to be on the map in Patrick's hands. Beside them, Andy was watching Joe; he could feel it. And he really wanted to get up and go for a little walk over to the bar area to get a coke or something, but if he did that it'd seem like he was sulking, and maybe he was – maybe Andy was right, and he was jealous – but sometimes he really wished that Pete would remember who Patrick was dating.  
  
"So, hey – Patrick, why don't you open something else?" Andy asked, gaze still fixed on Joe.  
  
"Oh – sure, sorry," Patrick said, carefully closing his folder and placing it on the bench, holding out his hand for Andy's gift (a t-shirt and wristband).  
  
"You gonna open Joe's?" Andy prompted again, when Patrick had thanked him.  
  
"No, it's fine, he can do that later," Joe cut in quickly. "There's no rush." _And I kind of like want to put the humiliation off as long as possible, thanks._  
  
Smiling at him wryly, Patrick asked, "You want me to open it later? Like, how much later? After everyone else's, or when we get home?"  
  
"Doesn't matter," Joe shrugged, trying to force a smile because he didn't want to sulk at Patrick's party, in front of his friends. Leon was already whispering to a confused-looking Max, or whatever the dude's name was, probably explaining that, oh yeah, by the way, that dude is kind of supposed to be Patrick's boyfriend.  
  
"Come here," Patrick sighed with a laugh, holding out his hand for the present.  
  
"No – it's fine. You can open it later, dude."  
  
"I want to open it now, though."  
  
"But – "  
  
"Joe, just give him the present, man," Andy cut in, just as Pete snatched it off his lap and danced out of reach with it.  
  
"Pete!"  
  
"Hey, Patrick – come open this fucker, I wanna see what he got you, kind of." He started to peel the edge of the tape back, and Joe kind of wanted to punch him for ruining everything, with his stupid gifts and making a big deal out of everything when all it needed was for it to be a nice little moment when Patrick got a gift he really wanted for his birthday.  
  
Now he just felt stupid.  
  
Patrick snatched the parcel back, even though Pete didn't make much of an effort to keep it from him, and sat himself down on the bench, so close to Joe that they were pressed thigh-to-thigh.   
  
Joe jiggled his knee up and down twitchily, chewing his lip and wishing he could be as far away as possible. He had to bite down on a cringe at the sound of the wrapping paper tearing, and almost bit through it when Pete half-shrieked, "Is that a _book_?!" before breaking into delighted cackles, as if he'd just witnessed the worst gift-giving moment in history. "Ohhhh – that is fucking priceless! He got him a _book_."  
  
"Joe... you didn't..." Patrick's voice asked, with an edge of stunned disbelief. The parcel in his hands was only slightly exposed, one corner torn from the wrapper.  
  
"I just thought..." he shrugged, trailing off and wishing the ground would just open up and take him. He could deal with Hell; it couldn't be much worse than this - watching Patrick peel back the rest of the paper slowly, as if he didn't _believe_ Joe had bought him a book.  
  
"Joe... this is..." he just stared at the cover for moment, running his fingers along the edge of the cover. "I can't take this, dude."  
  
"You can't?" Joe asked, his stomach dropping, painfully aware of the others watching them. "But you were really into it, so I just –"  
  
"Joe, this is just... it's way too much. You can't spend this kind of money on me, it's just stupid. You didn't need to do this – "  
  
"It's just a fucking book, dude!" Pete cut in. "How much could it cost?"  
  
"A hundred and seventy dollars!" Patrick told him, sounding absolutely horrified.  
  
Leon actually muttered, "Holy fucking shit," and gave Simon a pointed look, like Joe had cut his ear off and sent it to Patrick in the mail.  
  
"If you want to take it back, I can like... get you the receipt," Joe murmured back, wishing with all his heart that he'd never bothered – because Pete could spend a few bucks on a worthless wad of paper and it was awesome, but Joe making the effort to try to do something really special and going to come out of his allowance for the next three months, was greeted with total humiliation.  
  
"What would I do with the money if I did?" Patrick asked, his voice much softer, apparently realising that this was not the reaction Joe had hoped for. "This is an amazing present, Joe, seriously – I just can't believe you'd spend this much on me!"  
  
"I can," Andy muttered in the background, polishing his glasses with the hem of his shirt.  
  
"It's totally unnecessary – "  
  
"Yeah, I mean, fuck – who wants a $170 book? If you're gonna spend so much cash at least get a guy something with an 'on' switch, kind of!" Pete laughed.  
  
" _I_ wanted it!" Patrick snapped. "I really wanted it, but because of this fucking band and because I'm getting kicked out of home for quitting school, I have to save everything I can and figure out how to keep myself in a couple of months time! This is... _fuck_ , y'know? It's one of the nicest presents anyone ever got me."  
  
Joe swallowed with a little difficulty and ventured a glance in his direction. "Really?"  
  
Patrick stared at him like he was insane. "You _know_ how much I wanted this book – what else would you think?"  
  
"Um... well, you said I was stupid, so I dunno... that I was stupid, maybe? That it was a super bad idea?"  
  
"Dude – that isn't what I meant. Like, _at all_. And I really appreciate this, but I think you're totally crazy for spending all this on me. You don't even have a job – "  
  
"No," Joe shrugged, self-consciously, wishing everyone else would just go get a drink or something and stop staring at them like they were giving a street performance, "but I have a pretty ridiculous allowance."  
  
"Right. I'll thank your mom and dad for it then, when I come over," Patrick grinned, tucking an arm around him and leaning his head on his shoulder for a moment.  
  
"What's it about?" Chris asked, moving and twisting so he could see the book right-side up.  
  
"It's an encyclopaedia of marine mammals," Patrick beamed, showing everyone proudly.  
  
Pete snorted. "And that's worth a hundred and seventy bucks?"  
  
"This is a fucking _amazing_ book! We got it in store in February and I've been looking at it every day. _Real scientists_ use this as a reference! It's fucking cool, Pete, don't knock it. You knew I was a geek about this stuff."  
  
"You need to get out of my immediate vicinity, or something, because you're draining my cool."  
  
Patrick flipped him off and stood up, pulling Joe to his feet, laying his book on the bench where he'd been sitting. "Oh, no, no, I'm going to drain your cool when I kick your ass in the game. Fucking watch me."  
  
"Wait – before we get like, started and stuff, I just wanna go and... get a drink or something," Joe said, checking for his wallet in his pocket, desperate for an excuse to just not be surrounded for a minute; to get away from the group without looking like he was in a bad mood. "Anyone want anything?"  
  
Patrick hurriedly nudged Chris out of the way to follow, mumbling, "I'll come with you, dude, wait up."  
  
Joe just nodded. Neither of them said anything else until they were at the bar, waiting for the girl serving them to produce their tray of soft drinks, and then Patrick subtly caught his hand for a moment and stroked Joe's knuckles with his thumb.  
  
"You okay?" he asked, sounding worried.  
  
"Sure, dude, I'm fine." _Awkward and embarrassed but I'm not dying or anything._  
  
"You just seem kind of bummed out, Joe, and I kind of –"  
  
"No, it's cool... I just... I'm sorry if you like, feel weird about the book and stuff. You can take it back if want... I just thought that like, getting you something you were really into would cheer you up or something, I guess. If your birthday was gonna suck, I figured that at least one thing about it should be awesome."  
  
" _Joe_..." Patrick groaned and pressed his forehead to Joe's shoulder for a second. "I told you it was the coolest thing ever and meant it, dude. I _love_ that book and you are way too kind for getting it for me. I'm touched, man, honestly."  
  
"I'm not trying to like, get compliments or anything, I just didn't want to defeat the whole point of getting it if you just feel bad. I didn't mean to make you look like a nerd or anything, either, and Pete – "  
  
"Oh, forget Pete, dude. I don't care who knows I'm into that stuff – it's fascinating, y'know? Animals are cool. It's not like you got me a book on dress making or something."  
  
Joe managed a short laugh and bumped him with his elbow coyly.  
  
"Hey," Patrick said in a stage whisper, leaning a little closer, and beckoning him nearer, "for what it's worth, he could get me a fucking galaxy of stars and it still wouldn't be as cool as yours."  
  
Joe didn't say it, but it was worth more than anything.  
  
\---  
  
An hour and a half later, Patrick had proved his point to Pete (although Simon and Max had actually been the winning pair) and they had decided to reconvene at the restaurant. It was getting dark as they walked the few blocks from the bowling alley, and Joe had all but forgotten about the problem with the presents until Pete caught up with them and wrapped both his arms around Patrick's neck from behind.  
  
"You know what would be cool?"  
  
"If you stopped choking me?"  
  
"Finding your star."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Finding your star, dude – you have a fucking map!" Pete reminded him excitably, letting him go to turn and walk backwards ahead of him.  
  
"There's no way you could see it from here," Andy pointed out. "Even if it's in our galaxy the light pollution would block out most of the stars... You'd have to be in the middle of nowhere to have a snowflake's hope in hell."  
  
"Actually, that's a pretty cool idea," Patrick mused, cocking his head and looking at Joe. "What do you think?"  
  
"About what?"  
  
"Going for a drive or something; seeing if we can find this piece of intergalactic real estate."  
  
"My car's front-wheel drive, not rocket booster, dude."  
  
Patrick laughed and elbowed him in the ribs, catching his fingers lightly. "Oh, well, we'll have to settle for a ride out of town, then..."  
  
"So, are we ditching dinner?" Pete asked, stopping in his tracks.  
  
Patrick glanced up at Joe and took his hand more firmly, "Actually, Pete – thanks for the idea and everything, but, y'know... I think it'll just be me and Joe."  
  
"What the actual _fuck_? It was my idea!"  
  
"Yeah, but it's my birthday."  
  
"I _bought you_ the star, and you don't even want me to be there?"  
  
"Am I dating _you_?!"  
  
Pete stared at him sourly for a moment and turned to catch up with Andy and Chris. He sulked at the opposite end of the table for the rest of the evening and Joe was pretty sure they were going to be paying for this for the next two weeks.  
  
\---  
  
By eleven they'd already been on the interstate for an hour; the windows were down, the stereo was decently loud, and Patrick was in the best mood he'd seen him in since the fight with his mom.  
  
She hadn't even gotten him a gift for his birthday; just a card and the announcement that seeing as he was an 'adult' now, he was too old for presents. Joe suspected she was making a point, and probably had a bunch of computer games hidden in her closet, but he hadn't told Patrick that because he didn't think Patrick would want to hear it; he liked being a martyr sometimes.  
  
It was nice, though – beyond nice – to be way out in the middle of nowhere, speeding north-west along the I90, nothing but dark fields and headlamps for miles and miles. They'd hardly spoken for the last half hour, but it was a good silence; it was comfortable and warm. Occasionally, Patrick would read facts aloud from the book he was reading by the penlight on his keychain, but they didn't need to break it with idle conversation, they could just enjoy it.  
  
"You think we're far enough away from the city, yet?" Patrick asked eventually, peering up at the sky outside his window.  
  
"You want to pull over?"  
  
\---  
  
"Not _here_ – we should get off the highway and into some little farm road or something."  
  
Joe grinned and shrugged, signalling to move to the outer lane so they could pull off as soon as possible. "You planning on like, raping and murdering me and burying the body, or something?"  
  
"No. Well. Not the murdering or the burying. Or the raping, technically. It's just, y'know..." he mumbled into his chest, "hard to be romantic or whatever with traffic roaring past every two seconds... and I figure that, y'know: we deserve a chance to be a bit romantic for a change."  
  
"You know that every time we try that we kind of like end up getting caught, right?"  
  
"That's not what I meant! I meant _romantic_. Like, old skool romantic; we're out here to look at the stars, dude. That's _romantic_."  
  
"Seriously? Wow. That's like a major anti-climax, dude... like, literally. I thought all that star stuff was an excuse," Joe joked, tutting loudly.  
  
" _Seriously_. Sometimes, believe it or not, I just wanna hang out."  
  
"LIES! When was the last time we hung out and something _didn't_ happen?" _Actually, when was we last time we hung out?_  
  
Patrick smirked and patted Joe's thigh. "Oh, I didn't say _often_."  
  
The road they found themselves on was quiet and unlit, and they drove a mile or two into the darkness, passing barn-style farm houses and a couple of confused looking horses in a field, before pulling over onto a grassy verge beside a wooden gate. It really did feel like they were in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but corn fields in every direction. He had no idea where the road went as it trailed into the distance; he'd never been out in this area before but it reminded him a lot of every horror movie he'd ever seen in his entire life. It really was amazing how clearly they could see the stars, out here. Joe had never really thought about it, but the light pollution around the city must be insane for there to be this much of a difference.  
  
"Come here," Patrick said quietly, his voice still sounding loud in the silence, closing the passenger door and walking over to lean on the gate, looking out into nothing.  
  
Joe followed, hesitating and wondering whether he should lock the car or not; he decided against it – it was unlikely either of those horses had a license.  
  
"It's pretty amazing," he whispered, leaning up against him and propping his chin on Patrick's shoulder.  
  
Patrick glanced across at him, and smiled.   
  
"Did you bring out your little map thing?"  
  
"We couldn't see it even if I did. It's dark, the moon isn't bright enough."  
  
"What about your keychain?"  
  
"Nah," Patrick shrugged, tilting his head to rest against Joe's cheek, "it'll just look like all the others."  
  
Joe chuckled and asked, "So, why did we come all the way out here?"  
  
"Well, it was to see this goddamn star, but actually I'm just kind of glad we're outside the city... sometimes I just wanna be a million miles way, y'know?"  
  
"Are you having second thoughts about college or something, dude?"  
  
"Fuck, no! No way."  
  
"Well, that's pretty good to hear 'cause you kind of like freaked me out for a second."  
  
Patrick turned to look at him as best he could, his bottom lip pushed out sulkily and shining blue in the dim moonlight; "Hey, we made a pact."  
  
Grinning against Patrick's cheek, Joe nodded, all his worries about Pete coming between them feeling stupid and insignificant for once. "So, I guess like, if she does kick you out you'll always have this star to go live on," he laughed quietly, squeezing him a little tighter.  
  
"I dunno, you feel like going into space?"  
  
"Sometimes, I'm pretty sure I like, _came_ from outer space."  
  
"What, in an egg like Mork?"  
  
" _Dude_ , no. I was thinking more like Superman or something..."  
  
"No, I promise, Mork is more accurate."  
  
Joe pinched him in the ribs and made him squeak like a startled guinea pig. "It's lucky you didn't want any sexy time for your birthday, seriously."  
  
"I do! I just didn't mean out here. We are _going home_ at some point."  
  
"If we don't get eaten by like, the Children of the Corn or something."  
  
"Because clearly, Superman is always foiled by brats. Nanoo, nanoo."  
  
"You're only saying that because you're like, impressed by the things I can do with my fingers."  
  
"Why do you think Mindy married him?"  
  
For a few minutes there was a very pregnant pause and Joe's breath kind of caught in his chest. He tightened his arms around Patrick's waist and gently pressed his lips to the side of his neck, and kind of wondered if, had it actually been any kind of legal, one of them would have followed that up with a proposal or something; but he didn't try it. He sure as hell wasn't going to be the one to break the silence with something completely misjudged and inappropriate; at least not this time. It didn't seem like Patrick was going to, either, and when he did speak it was as if nothing had even happened. He just wriggled and twisted until he was leaning back against the gate, and facing Joe, and took a deep breath.  
  
"So, um, I've been thinking and I'm pretty sure that, y'know: Pete can take care of himself, now. I mean, he seems pretty much okay, right now, and he'll probably get back with his girlfriend by next week, so... I don't see any reason I can't start spending more time with you, again. If you'll, y'know, have me, or whatever..."  
  
Joe kind of wondered if it was actually _his_ birthday instead of Patrick's, all of a sudden. "Yeah?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"If you're just saying that because like, you feel bad, you don't have to. If you think that Pete will go off the rails without your whole therapy thing, I understand if you want to like, keep doing it... but if not then I guess I can like, make some time in my diary or something, maybe..."  
  
Patrick just gazed at him with a peculiar look on his shadowy face, and then kissed him. "You're pretty amazing, you know that?" he said, sounding, as far as Joe was concerned, a little awed.  
  
"Actually, dude, I do. I'm pretty much the definition of amazing. But you're not so bad, either, I guess..."  
  
"I still can't believe you paid all that to get me a book."  
  
"Well... I went in on Tuesday when you were at Pete's and Lizzie was the assistant supervisor or something, so she gave me like $20 off as a discount..."  
  
"That's still a hundred and fifty bucks, Joe!"  
  
"Yeah, but you really wanted it. And it was educational. And I didn't get you a gift last year..."  
  
"You're sure you weren't just thinking that... I dunno. That maybe you needed to give me something huge to compete with Pete?"  
  
Joe snorted. "I can give you something huge _for free_."  
  
"Joe, seriously."  
  
"No," Joe assured him, sighing heavily. "I just wanted to give you something amazing and make you feel better, dude. No secret agendas or anything, I swear on my mom's credit card."  
  
Patrick leaned forward and buried his face in Joe's shoulder, tucking his arms around him. "Well, then thanks, Joe. This pretty much has to be the coolest birthday ever, and the nicest present ever. I haven't felt this good since... actually, since July 26th."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"That was the Thursday after you got back from the Arma tour, remember?"  
  
Joe stared down at him for a second, and then something clicked and he felt like a total douche. "Shit – that's when we got together."  
  
"Yup," Patrick nodded without lifting his head. "The day I bullied you into dating me, the day I came out and didn't get smited... Pretty awesome all-round, actually."  
  
"We've actually been dating for nine months and a day, dude. That's _forever_."  
  
Patrick laughed awkwardly and muttered, "I'm kind of hoping there's more to the whole 'forever' deal than nine months, dude."  
  
 _I can totally see me dating you forever. I can totally see us as like, bad tempered old dudes sitting out on rocking-chairs on the porch, shaking our walking canes at all the kids and stuff, bitching about how things were different when we were young..._ He'd blurted out the next thought without really even realising it until Patrick pulled away and looked up at him, asking, "What?"  
  
"We should do it," he said again, without thinking to add any further clarification.  
  
"Yeah, I got that, but what should we do?"  
  
"Oh. Um..." he trailed off, wondering if he really did mean this; but right now it seemed like the most obvious thing ever and he really couldn't see any reason not to. "I was just thinking about stuff, and like... this whole forever thing."  
  
"...uh-huh?"  
  
"And it's like, we have no plans for breaking up or anything, right?"  
  
Patrick just stared at him. "Right."  
  
"Cool. Excellent. So... I was kind of like thinking that maybe, seeing as you like, need someplace to live and stuff in a couple of months and we're like, going on tour and everything until sort of, mid-July... maybe afterward we should kind of... trytofindsomeplacetogetherorsomething. If you want."  
  
"Together?"  
  
"Uh... yeah? I mean, I'll be eighteen, too, in September. And it'd be cheaper and everything, if we're sharing rent and stuff."  
  
"Woah – what? _Dude_. Are you serious?"  
  
Feeling a little embarrassed and afraid it was way, way too soon, Joe just nodded.   
  
"You seriously want to do that?"  
  
"Well... yeah. I guess it's all like, a little more complicated and stuff, but... yeah. We should have been like, leaving home to go to college anyway, right? And we'll have been together over a year, in September."  
  
"Joe – why would you want to leave home? Your parents are amazing! If I was you, I'd be living there until I was thirty..."  
  
Shrugging, Joe just said, "Because you won't move in with us."  
  
\---  
  
He'd really only expected them to be out there for an hour, but it was almost three in the morning that Joe made the turn onto the exit ramp of the I90 to head onto the I94 northbound toward the suburbs. Patrick was asleep in the passenger seat, his head resting against the window and the smallest smile on the corner of his lips.  
  
They'd spent hours out there, sitting cuddled together on the verge, figuring out if they could really do this. The only thing they'd really settled on was the fact that no one was to know, not even Joe's parents or Andy, until they'd worked out exactly what their plan was – and had some all-important time to really think it through and cool off and figure out if this was as sensible as it felt right now. They'd both acknowledged that in normal circumstances the idea wouldn't have occurred to either of them, at this point. It was only a few months ago that Joe had told Luke that Patrick was way too young to move out of home, and now they were planning on doing it together. It was going to be hard work, for sure – Joe would actually have to get off his lazy ass and find a job for the first time ever; but if that meant making sure Patrick had someplace to live in a few months' time and that even if Patrick had to spend time working with Pete on songs or whatever, he would still come home and be with Joe every night, then he considered that an acceptable compromise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote from 'Arbor Lane' by Spitalfield  
> And the book is [real](https://www.amazon.com/Encyclopedia-Marine-Mammals-William-Perrin/dp/0125513402?ie=UTF8&qid=1212356612&ref_=pd_bbs_1&s=books&sr=8-1) and really did cost that much.


	14. Stop Making Plans, Start Making Sense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe saw him first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have four documents containing versions of this chapter – I've probably scrapped as many words as I've posted, including three scenes (in the van, in a motel and at a branch of Denny's). The good news is that this is a tipping-off point for the next era of the fic. Huge things are coming.
> 
> **I want to warn people** , as well, that there is a fairly offensive anti-Semitic term used late in this chapter, which I don't condone at all, but which was relevant to the context of the scene. I hope that any Jewish readers will understand that no offence is intended to them in using the word, and that it is used by a 'villain' of the piece, rather than a respected character. ♥

**The World's Not Waiting (For Joe Trohman to Stop Being a Pussy and Start Going For What He Wants)**  
 _Part Fourteen: Stop Making Plans, Start Making Sense  
  
"These mistakes are just part of the ride."_  
  
  
Watching Patrick spend the last few days before they went on their first proper tour packing up all his belongings and agonising over whether he could let his childhood toys go to charity or into the trash (while Joe covertly stowed some of them into his rucksack because he knew Patrick was going to regret it when Mumra was unravelling his bandages in a landfill), was kind of sad. He'd already stashed a bunch of stuff in the Trohmans' basement – Joe's dad had even bought Patrick's drum kit, for Sam. Joe kind of thought he might be hoping it would form a new focus for Sam's toddler-exterminating aggression, but he still wasn't keen on the prospect of his thirteen year old brother hammering away day and night.   
  
Patrick was being fiercely stoic about leaving home. He didn't like talking about it, although he did buy Joe's mom a box of Swiss chocolate for offering him the storage space in the basement and inviting him to stay until he found somewhere. She still had no idea what they were planning; nobody did – although Andy had a tendency to give them speculative looks whenever Patrick avoided questioning on the matter.   
  
The worst part, though, was helping him carry his sleeping bag and pack out to the van on the day they left. His mother stood on the porch with her arms wrapped around herself, not saying anything.  
  
"Are you even going to say goodbye, man?" Joe asked gently, as Patrick yanked the rear doors open and climbed in with his bag, dumping it on top of Andy's stuff.  
  
For a moment, Patrick hesitated, adjusting his cap and pushing his glasses back up his nose.  
  
"C'mon, dude – you're gonna be away for weeks. You're not even coming back here. The least you can do is like, give her a hug or something..."  
  
Patrick exhaled heavily and for a moment Joe really thought he was going to throw a tantrum; but instead, he jumped back down on to the road and walked back up the path with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. Joe couldn't hear what they said to each other, but there was a lot of hugging. He threw the rolled-up sleeping bag into the van and climbed inside to get settled on the bedding they'd be living in for the next few weeks; he didn't need to watch that part.  
  
"Fuck, I feel like I'm stuck in a fucking Hallmark card, kind of," Pete grouched from the front seat, cranking up the stereo until it made the snare rattle in its case.  
  
"Maybe you should stay there, or something, dude," Joe muttered back. If Pete was allowed to whine, Patrick was allowed to make things up with his mom before he left home.  
  
Pete just flipped him off and pulled his shades down from the top of his head.  
  
"So, are we _going_?" Andy demanded cheerfully, as Patrick ran back into the van, leaping up onto the cargo base without breaking step and slamming the door behind him.  
  
"Yeah," Patrick nodded a little breathlessly as he climbed over an amp to get to where Joe was forming their little nest of sleeping bags, pillows and luggage. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

\---  
  
Touring with Fall Out Boy wasn't like touring with Arma. For a start, it was actually partly _his band_ – he wasn't just a fill-in and he wasn't the little kid that everyone else got to humiliate for kicks – but also, he had his boyfriend slumped across the van beside him and two of their best friends in the front; Andy singing (off-key) to partially detuned rock stations as they travelled toward Michigan, Pete scowling out of the window with his shades on and scuffed sneakers on the dash. There was no aircon in the van, but they had both the cab windows open and doing close to ninety on the freeway there was a sufficient breeze not for them to be too sticky and stifled by the peak summer heat.  
  
Since Patrick's birthday, things between them had been a lot better. Pete had gotten back together with the girl and left Patrick to Joe again; Joe and Patrick had spent a lot of hours making up for all the hanging out they'd missed, and _not entirely_ discussing their plan to get a place together. It wasn't that they didn't want to do it, anymore – it was just that they'd had so much to think about with the tour coming up, and finishing school, that they hadn't wanted to waste their downtime on Serious Business. Plus, there was always the risk of one parent or other (or worse, Sam) overhearing them, which was the last thing they wanted – they didn't want to get shot down before they'd even had a chance to try. But other than that, they'd been good. They'd been normal. Joe had almost stopped wanting to hiss like a pissed off tomcat when Pete got too touchy-feely.  
  
Sitting in the back of the van for hours at a time, though, provided the perfect opportunity for scoping the market. Patrick had picked up a couple of local papers to check out the classifieds, and they spent the first afternoon lounging in the back and whispering to each other; right up until Pete turned around to ask Patrick which album the Bowie song on the radio was from, and he realised what had been keeping them so quiet for the last hour.  
  
"Are you two looking up someone to teach you how to do it right, or something?" he leered. "'Cause you're looking in the wrong publication for _that_ , kind of."  
  
Patrick flipped him off absently and rubbed at Joe's knee with the other hand. "We're looking up pest control."  
  
"Burned!" Andy laughed from the driver's seat, drumming the wheel to the beat from the stereo.  
  
"No, seriously, what are you looking at those for?"  
  
"Just checking for like, cheap gear," Joe lied, feeling his face turning pink. _Countdown to humiliation..._  
  
"On the _property_ page?"  
  
"Pete, do the fucking math, dude. I just got kicked out of my mom's house, and now me and Joe are looking at apartments. Rocket science it's clearly not."  
  
 _Dude, don't_ tell _him! Now he's gonna like, make our lives hell for the next two weeks!_  
  
"What, you two are planning on shacking up together?" Pete asked, his eyebrows lifting so high Joe almost thought they might take flight. "THAT IS THE FUNNIEST THING I EVER HEARD!"  
  
"Oh yeah, we're laughing."  
  
"Do your mom and dad know about this?" Andy asked, looking pointedly at Joe in the rearview mirror and making him feel like he'd failed his math test or something.  
  
He shook his head with a shrug and looked away.  
  
"Nobody knew until just then," Patrick answered for him, rubbing his back apologetically. "But it's not a big deal. We're moving in together – so what? It's what people do."  
  
Pete laughed incredulously, pointing at Joe and reminding him, "He can't even vote!"  
  
"I can in a few weeks..."  
  
"I wouldn't trust you to make a fucking sandwich, dude, forget actual fucking decisions!"  
  
"At least I _can be_ trusted," Joe muttered.  
  
"So, what's your plan?" Andy asked, apparently trying to side-step the bickering. "Do you have a place lined up, or what?"  
  
"Not yet," Patrick admitted. "We just figured that we'd work it out when we got home, y'know? When we have time. Right now we're just trying to see what kind of options we have."  
  
"How the fuck do you even think you're going to afford rent?" Pete snorted, sitting back in his seat and folding his arms across his chest. "Borders doesn't pay that well, kids."  
  
"I don't even work there anymore, remember? I quit so I could come on this dumb fucking tour. But I'll work two jobs if I have to. I'll do anything. It's not like I get a choice about that."  
  
"I told you, dude – come and live in my basement!"  
  
"I don't _want_ to live in your basement."  
  
"Listen, man, I've lived away from home about a million times, kind of. It costs more than you can fucking imagine. There's no way you're gonna be able to afford it, or whatever."  
  
"Oh, yeah? Well, just fucking watch us," Patrick retorted defiantly. "And if you're so great at living by yourself, how come you keep ending up back home?"  
  
"Okay, Mr fucking Independent, what do you do when you heating fucks up in January?"  
  
"Call the landlord. Or the building supervisor if you're in one of those places..."  
  
"Or my dad," Joe added, receiving an unamused look from Patrick and realising that he had actually proved Pete's very point. "Just because we're not living there, doesn't mean we can't ask them how to do stuff. I don't think that plumbing gets like, passed down in humans' genetic memory or something, basically. I'm pretty sure even you had to ask somebody..."  
  
"Nope. Because I never lived anywhere where the heating was _going_ to get fucked up – I was smart enough not to get some shitty rat hole with fucked up plumbing."  
  
"Okay, you know what, Pete?" Patrick began, starting to sound really pissed. "Beggars can't be fucking choosers. We might not be able to get some amazing penthouse or whatever, but not all of us are fucking rich, y'know? Not everyone can get Daddy to pay their rent and not everyone can be that picky about which part of town they live in. Maybe we'll end up with some crappy little studio in a shitty part of town, but that really is pretty much the last thing I fucking care about, right now."  
  
"One," Pete responded right away, counting on his fingers, "if you don't have the luxury of choosing, why the fuck won't you just take up my offer of living in our basement? Two; studios get real cramped, real fast. If you end up in one of those together, you'll end up fucking killing each other, kind of, because _he_ can't stand mess, and I've seen your fucking bedroom. Three; if you end up hating each other, the band is fucked. Four – "  
  
"Would you shut the fuck up?"  
  
"- Joe's got a cosy, convenient little family to run back to as soon as things start to not work out and where will that leave you, genius? He's not gonna want to stick that shit out when he's got it made, back home."  
  
Joe balked at him, not quite sure whether he'd understood that right because surely even Pete wouldn't call him a flake to his face. "Um, what the _fuck_ , dude? This was my idea. He won't move in with us, for like, the long-term, so I said I'd do it. I want to do it!"  
  
"Seriously? So, I guess that explains how it's so fucking _insane_ , or whatever..."  
  
"I've gotta be honest, you guys, I think you're kind of biting off a little more than you can chew," Andy agreed, sounding like he was trying to talk them off a ledge. "It'd be one thing if it was a bunch of people getting a whole apartment or house or something, because it'd all work out less for rent and bills and stuff, and there'd be a pretty good chance at least one person already lived out of home – but just the two of you... I'd say that's gonna be a serious learning curve."  
  
"If we were going to college we'd still have to like, to move out and stuff..." Joe mumbled, feeling very small.  
  
Pete snorted. "Yeah, into _halls_ or something, where your parents pay your accommodation and they give you three meals a day."  
  
"I can cook," Joe told him indignantly. _Better than you can, anyway_.  
  
"You gonna let Patrick go out and earn the housekeeping while you stay home and keep the place?"  
  
"No! But like, we can manage, dude... we can manage."  
  
In the front, Andy sighed. "Look, guys, I admire your conviction and everything, but Pete's right. Committing to this is a huge deal. It's not all going to be nights on the sofa and sex before work..."  
  
Patrick hadn't turned that red since the day Joe's mom walked in on them. "It's nothing to do with that! I don't have anyone else I'd rather spend my time with than Joe. "  
  
 _Seriously? You don't?_ Joe slipped his fingers between Patrick's proudly and pulled is hand closer, glancing at Pete to see if he'd noticed.  
  
"I'm _just saying_ –"  
  
"Well, don't. We're getting a place together, end of story."  
  
"Only until the sequel; 'The Apartment II: The Eviction'."  
  
"My mom and dad'll help out," Joe mumbled.  
  
"If your mom and dad are helping out, isn't that exactly the opposite of what Rebel Without A Clue, here, was trying to do by not moving in with you anyway, kind of?"  
  
"I don't care if they help Joe out. Joe's parents can help Joe, and I'll help myself. I've already told you: I'll get two jobs."  
  
"Why don't you just ask if some of your friends want to get in on rooming with you?" Andy asked, signalling to pull off of the highway. "Share the pressure?"  
  
 _Because we wanted privacy, that's why. We wanted to do this properly._  
  
"All our friends are going to college," Patrick shrugged back. "There's nobody to share with... and I kind of don't want to end up living with someone I don't know, y'know?"  
  
"I'm not going to college!" Pete corrected, elbowing Andy. "Hey – wait! Wait – we should totally make it a band thing – get like, a whole place and all share it. That would be fucking  _sweet_."  
  
"Like the fucking Monkees? Are you serious? I didn't leave home so I could turn into a cliché!"   
  
"No, you moved out of home because your mommy kicked you out, or whatever. And it's an amazing idea!"  
  
 _That's totally a matter of opinion, and in my opinion it'd suck._  
  
"Um... count me out, guys. I need to stay home in Wisconsin, close to my mom."  
  
"You spend more time in Chicago than you do in Menomonee anyway, you little mommy's boy!"  
  
"Yeah, so what time I have I want to spend with my family and my other friends, if that's cool with you. And, oh yeah – I still do that whole education thing, that you wrote off already."  
  
"Whatever," Pete sighed impatiently. "We'll just do it with the three of us, then."  
  
Joe looked at Patrick, hoping that as Pete's favourite person he'd do a better job of saying, ' _Yeah, when hell freezes over!_ ' than Joe could.  
  
"Well, we haven't even decided what we're doing, yet..." Patrick shrugged, holding Joe's hand a little tighter.  
  
"Exactly – if nothing's fixed, then it's easier to figure out."  
  
Patrick made a non-committal "Hmm."  
  
"It'd be awesome, dude."  
  
"Yeah, but –"  
  
Joe had a really bad feeling that this was going to spiral out of control before he'd even gotten started. "Can we get something to eat?"  
  
"We're already heading off the highway," Andy assured him.  
  
Joe was still bothered by it when they climbed out of a van at a rest stop in the early hours of the next morning. Pete had been going on and on about this apartment they were suddenly getting and Joe had waited for Patrick to say something to contradict it – but so far there was nothing. He didn't know whether that was because Patrick didn't want to piss Pete off or because Patrick was actually warming to the idea. At the venue, earlier, he'd caught Pete cornering him by the van as they unloaded, 'explaining' why it was 'clearly' the best option. The subtext of the whole thing just seemed to go over Patrick's head. When they woke him up at a rest stop in the middle of the night and untangled him from Pete, he stumbled straight into Joe's arms and let him half-support him across the parking lot, one sleepy cheek pressed to his shoulder.  
  
"Did you get enough rest?" Joe asked, as they tried to figure out how to use the coffee machine in the gas station shop.  
  
"Some. It's kind of hard to sleep when you have Pete breathing on the back of your neck..." Patrick yawned, handing him a plastic lid.  
  
"You could tell him to like, back off, if you wanted."  
  
"Well, yeah, I could. But then he'd be going on about moving in with us again, and I just don't want to deal with it."  
  
"You want _me_ to tell him to back off?"  
  
"Nah," Patrick told him through another yawn. "We're up next, right? He can't sleep on me if I'm driving and I'll have you right there. Anyway, he's just over-excited – he'll get over it."  
  
"Hmm." _That's what Andy said when Pete met you..._  
  
Patrick grinned at him and glanced around to make sure no one but Pete or Andy was lurking nearby, before kissing him on the cheek and patting his ass. "Someone's a little jealous..." he sing-songed, smugly.  
  
"Can you like, _blame me_ , exactly? I thought I got you to myself for a change and now he's like, inviting himself to live with us, dude... It's seriously lame. The whole point was that we were supposed to be able to spend time together..."  
  
"Well, it's good to know you care," Patrick teased, taking a bag and picking up the tongs for the donuts on the display beside the coffee machine.  
  
"He'll totally get in the way."  
  
"Don't worry about Pete, I can deal with him – it's just like telling a four year old, that no, they're not having any candy. You've known him way longer than me, you should have a pretty good idea about that already. Besides, he just broke up with that girl, again – he's feeling a little shitty about that and he just wants something to look forward to. It's got nothing to do with us."  
  
"Yeah, but it's not 'us'; he's never like, tried to feel me up, dude."  
  
"Yeah, it's kind of a hard life being totally irresistible," Patrick sighed mournfully.  
  
As if by magic, Pete appeared from nowhere, clutching bags of candy, "You better believe it, man," he grinned, leaning between them to pick up a cup for his coffee.  
  
Patrick snorted. "Like you'd know."  
  
Joe waited for Pete to fill his cup and wander off to the counter, and muttered, "Yeah, because he seems _totally_ bummed."  
  
"Pete has never been bummed _in his life_ ," Patrick scoffed, pointing first to a Boston Cream and then to a jam-filled glaze by way of asking which Joe wanted. Joe scrunched up his nose and pointed to another, instead. "You want that one. _Pink with sprinkles_? Seriously?"  
  
"It's strawberry!"  
  
"Seriously."  
  
"I'm gonna eat it, not wear it..."  
  
"And you think Pete's the gay one?"  
  
"No, I'm the gay one, Pete's the fucking wannabe who keeps trying to steal my boyfriend."  
  
"And that, my friend, is why it doesn't matter how many times he tries to grope me, I know it's all an act."  
  
"Yeah, but like... are you seriously saying that if someone was trying to feel me up in front of you all the time, it wouldn't bother you?"  
  
"Not if it was Pete, because I'd mostly be too busy laughing."  
  
"But if it wasn't Pete? If it was like... I dunno. Somebody hotter than you, or – I mean... I'm not saying there's somebody hotter than you or anything, but like – "  
  
"If I thought they were actual competition, Joe, _of course_ I'd care. But Pete isn't competition, he's not hotter than you, and seriously, you really have to stop thinking he is. Also: now is a kind of bad time to talk about this; old dude at the counter is watching us like we're shoplifting."  
  
Joe nodded reluctantly and held out his hand for the tongs. He left with a bag of donuts entirely of his own, planning to eat enough sugar that he could stay awake longer than Pete and therefore deny him any further opportunity for romantic espionage. Which was kind of lucky, because when they got back in the van and Patrick was at the wheel, he dropped his Boston Cream trying to pull out onto the freeway and eat at the same time. Joe tried not to feel too smug that Patrick made him feed him the replacement he offered, especially when he caught the sour look on Pete's face as Patrick caught Joe's wrist and sloppily licked a splodge of custard from his thumb, arguing that he'd already lost one donut and he wasn't wasting this one, when Joe grimaced.  
  
"I can't believe you're grossed out about me licking your hand! It's not like I haven't – "  
  
"STOP RIGHT THERE, IF YOU WANT TO LIVE!" Andy yelled from the back, not even looking up from the comic he was reading by torchlight.  
  
"Okay, we're adding a rule to the tour list, kind of: no talking about fucking in the van. No touching in the van. No acknowledging any kind of sexual or romantic activity in the van. Ever."  
  
Patrick cast Joe a sidelong look and smirked, mouthing, "Happy now?"  
  
Joe wasn't about to complain that this probably meant they'd be tied up against opposite walls whenever they weren't driving, now. He knew when it was probably best to quit while he was ahead.  
  
The only problem was, Pete didn't give up. He just seemed to get more and more into the idea. By the time they got to Alabama four days later he was pin-pointing the exact area he thought they should go for. And Joe had kind of had enough.  
  
"So, like, when are we gonna tell Pete he's not moving in with us?" he whispered over the final amp they were lugging into the venue.  
  
Patrick chewed the corner of his lip and concentrated on adjusting his grip.  
  
"Dude? Dude, I said – "  
  
"Yes. I know. I heard you," Patrick hissed back.  
  
"And...?" Joe prompted, already knowing where this was going and kind of wanting to let go of his side of the amp and go and sulk in the van. _Why does he always have to ruin everything?_  
  
"And I don't want to get into it right now, Joe."  
  
"You think we should let him?"  
  
"I said I don't want to get into it now, dude, c'mon."  
  
"So, when?"  
  
"I don't know! Just – _not now_."  
  
Joe wanted to say something petulant, like 'I'm not moving in if Pete is,' but he knew all that would do was give them even more time alone together and that was the last thing he wanted. In fact, he wouldn't even mind moving in with Pete – a year ago he would have thought that it was the coolest thing in the world to get to live with Pete – if Pete wasn't in the habit of trying to steal as much of Patrick's attention as possible, as often as possible.  
  
"I just wanted us to be, like... closer," he muttered miserably, instead. _I mean, if Pete's right about one thing it's that it'd just be like, way, way easier for me to keep living at home, right now. But no, I offer to do something huge – I offer to leave home for you – and it's just thrown back in my face the second Pete steals the idea._  
  
"Joe, if we got much closer we'd be the same person."  
  
"You don't want to do it anymore, do you?"  
  
Patrick stopped abruptly, halfway through a swing door and looked at him seriously. "That is _not_ what I said."  
  
"You kind of didn't have to..."  
  
"I didn't say I don't want to live with you, dude, it's just that... I think we need to look at all our options first, y'know? And there are like, a hundred people coming in and out with gear right now so if we could just not do this until later, it'd be really, really cool."  
  
Joe didn't say anything. He just helped Patrick carry the amp into the main venue and then sloped off back to the van; the rest of them could set up – they hadn't had a soundcheck at all in the last three venues, so he had no reason to suspect they would tonight.   
  
Miserably, he climbed into the back of the almost empty van and sat on the wheel arch, arms crossed over his knees and his face buried in them. He'd _totally_ seen this coming. Things had been working out too well. He really wished things were just as they were seven or eight months ago – just getting serious, instead of just getting complicated. Maybe he _should_ just stay home and let Patrick move in with whoever he wanted. It was just that he'd really started to like the idea and he didn't want Patrick to out-grow him, either. If Patrick was living away from home with Pete or whoever, and Joe was still living with his parents, then it made him look like a kid while Patrick was growing up.  
  
Maybe that was the whole problem. Maybe Patrick just thought that Joe was too much of a kid – after all, he'd never had a job in his life and even if his parents let him get away with a lot, they still basically took care of everything for him... And maybe Joe wasn't really helping his case by sulking. It was just that it really hurt to think that maybe his own boyfriend would rather spend time with other people than with him. What if they broke up? What if Patrick really did get bored of him and they broke up? Sure, he was sick of things being up and down all the time – never feeling quite sure that Patrick wouldn't rather be hanging out with Pete – but the idea of not being with him anymore made his chest ache.  
  
He was still sitting there when Patrick pulled the door open and crawled into the van to sit in front of him, tugging the door almost closed behind him.  
  
"I _wasn't_ saying that," he insisted softly, adjusting his cap and shifting nearer to rub his fingers over a bruise on Joe's arm, from where he'd had a fight with a mic stand a day or two before. "I don't _really_ want to live with a bunch of people, either, dude, but... Pete's lived in his own place before. And I'm just kind of thinking that, y'know: as much as I hate to admit that he's right, maybe living together already is just a bit... intense. Especially in some tiny apartment where we have to be in each other's faces 24/7. We've never really had a chance to do that before, and – "  
  
"What about when you were staying with us?"  
  
"That was a _week_ , Joe. How do we know that we won't get sick of each other, or end up fighting, or – "  
  
"And moving Pete in with us is going to fix that?"  
  
"Not Pete specifically. But it might shake things up a little to have other people there... And maybe if we share with Pete and maybe even someone else for half a year or a year or something, then we'll get used to the idea and be able to make it work better when we get someplace by ourselves, because we'll know what we're doing."  
  
"'When'?" Joe echoed.  
  
"Well, yeah, I _hope_ it's 'when'. You still wanna do it, right?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Good, because so do I. And I mean, just 'cause we might not do it with just the two of us now, doesn't mean we won't do it ever."  
  
"But we agreed – "  
  
"I know we did," Patrick sighed, leaning closer to kiss him while Joe ducked away from him, slightly. "Oh, c'mon, Bambi," he whispered helplessly, trying to coax some response from him by kneeling up and trying to pull him into a hug. "We would still be living together – we could still have our own room and everything – but it'd be cheaper, and less pressure and we can give ourselves time to... well, to adjust, I guess."  
  
 _I don't need to adjust, though – I know what I want to do. I want to be with just you like we said we would._  
  
"You're making this huge decision to help me out and – "  
  
"I'm making it because I want to."  
  
"No, I know, and I didn't even mean it like that. I'm not even saying we _have to_ have Pete living with us – I'm just saying we should maybe think about it. Think about all the stuff we could do for the band if we were all together all the time, y'know? I think it could be really awesome."  
  
"I think it could be more awesome if we didn't," Joe muttered, but he knew even then that Pete was going to be sharing their apartment, whether he liked it or not. He sighed and shrugged him off limply, not feeling any less disappointed and leaving Patrick to stare at him in the shadows.  
  
"Oh, _Joe_ , c'mon..."  
  
Joe didn't say anything at first. It was all just too depressing. He'd really set his heart on them getting somewhere together, and now it was going to be completely ruined, because of Pete. Because of the exact reason he'd wanted to do it in the first place. "You should have just told me the truth..."  
  
"You wanna hear the truth, Joe? Honestly? 'Cause the thing is, I don't feel like a 'grown-up' and I'm kind of tired of pretending that I am just because people like Pete and my mom tell me I'm not and I have some stupid point to prove. I feel like this... this _awkward little nerd_ who only just turned eighteen who just got kicked out of home and doesn't even know how you pay utility bills and can't wire a plug or work a microwave with more than three settings. I don't feel like this – like what we're doing here – is even an adult relationship, y'know?  _Serious_ , sure, because I can't even imagine dating somebody else, but how can we think we're capable of this, right now? We can't even be in the same room naked without being embarrassed. And y'know, people our age are mostly in college and sure, they might get to see their boyfriends or girlfriends or whatever, _every day_ , but at the end of that, they still get to go and be themselves. They go back across the hall or whatever, and they get to be in their own space. They're not turning themselves into weird, co-dependent little units already. And I hate that Pete's right about any of this, but sometimes I feel more like I'm thirteen than eighteen. I _want_ to settle down, one day, and maybe not even when I'm old – like, before I'm thirty – and it would be totally _awesome_ if it was with you, but I just... I don't think it's the smartest thing to do _now_."   
  
"Then... why did you even say yes, if you didn't even want to? I – I mean... I dropped college so that I could stay with you..."  
  
"I do _want to_. But I think that maybe we just kind of got... carried away or something. I'm just trying to be realistic about it, dude. When I do this – or even, when we do this – I want to do it right and at least get a _chance_ at pulling it off. If we get an apartment or something, and we both have a room each, and Pete has a room – and whoever else ends up there has a room – we get our own space but we still get to be there together all the time, if we want to. You can still sleep in my room, and I can still sleep in yours, y'know? We can still be together as much as we want, but it'll just be like... I dunno, maybe more casual? That kind of makes it sound not-so-serious and that's so not what I mean, but you get my point, right?"  
  
Looking over at him properly for the first time, Joe reluctantly mumbled, "Kind of..."  
  
"Because sometimes I feel like I'm playing dress up in kindergarten again, or something, y'know? But like, the other way around, so I'm doing all this super-serious stuff, and kind of doing all these 'grown-up' things that apparently adults are expected to do, but secretly, I know that I'm wearing the Thundercats boxers that my mom got me for Christmas."  
  
Joe couldn't suppress a little snort of laughter at the mental image. "I like those ones. I wish my mom bought me cool stuff like that... I just get hand-woven sweaters she'd have to pay me to wear."  
  
"Just the fact that you think my Thundercats underwear is cool proves that not only are we going to have to be together for a really long time – because nobody else is going to want either of us – but that we are way, _way_ too immature for this."  
  
"Thundercats underwear is cool. That's just like, _fact_ , basically. But like... do you seriously want Pete close enough to hear you in bed? Because he's not as kind of like, 'discreet' as my mom and dad, but even they make jokes about us doing it, dude, and Pete will totally humiliate us about it every single day, basically."  
  
"Your mom and dad have never heard us, dude. No way."  
  
"Sam says you 'snore like a cat' or something." '  
  
"I don't snore."  
  
"Well, exactly."  
  
Patrick pressed mortified palms to his face. "Oh man..."  
  
"At least they don't tease _you_ about it."  
  
"You realise I'm never going to come within fifty feet of your parents again, right?"  
  
"If you'd been that picky about it when we started doing this..."  
  
Laughing through an embarrassed groan, Patrick buried his face in the crook of Joe's neck and wrapped his arms around him tightly, as if they hadn't been on the verge of a fight a few minutes ago.   
  
"I'm sorry, you know," Patrick murmured, shifting again so that he wasn't so muffled against Joe's shoulder. "I feel totally flaky about it... but what Pete's been saying kind of made me think, y'know?"   
  
"He's probably like... a little bit right," Joe finally admitted, shrugging and tucking an arm around Patrick's waist, "but it would have been cool to not have to freak out about like, who's gonna come home or if we can get to watch a movie by ourselves and all that kind of stuff..."   
  
"Yeah, but y'know: we can find a way. He's gonna be going away with bands and stuff... or just out, sometimes. And like I said, we can still just spend time in our rooms together. I'm totally cool with barricading ourselves in... and turning up the stereo. I’ve always wanted to incorporate Prince into my sexlife."   
  
"Does your stereo even go loud enough to make a difference? Because you mostly suck at being quiet."   
  
"We'll hook it up to your Marshall, it’ll be fine."   
  
"That's just gonna act like a siren to tell him what we're doing and that'll totally just mean he wants to like, join in or something, pretty much."   
  
"We'll get a _really good_ lock. I mean, it worked on Sam…"   
  
"Sam is thirteen, dude. Pete could probably like, break into the Pentagon if he wanted."   
  
"Okay, so I’ll make you a deal,” Patrick announced, pulling back and looking him in the eye. “We’ll see if we can handle it for a year – one whole year, sleeping in the same room every night even if we have a room each, eating together every night, hanging out as much as we want – and if that works out, then I promise we’ll get our own apartment. Just us. No Pete. I promise."   
  
Joe looked up at him dubiously, prodded him in the belly button and asked, "Were you like, serious about the Prince thing?"  
  
"Am I ever going to get laid again if I say yes?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then I was _totally_ joking. Sort of."  
  
Scrunching up his nose reluctantly, Joe leaned in a little to kiss him, gently squeezing his waist with his knees as Patrick knelt between them – just in time for the door to be yanked open again, and Andy to appear with the shaven-headed drummer from one of the other support bands.  
  
For a moment there was silence. Andy's eyes were like saucers behind his glasses and the guy from the other band just stared at them.  
  
"Uh..." Patrick gurgled, straightening his hat and getting up a little too quickly. "Hi."  
  
There was really no point trying to pretend they hadn't been doing anything, and Joe's face was burning up; no one would be fooled for a moment.  
  
"Could one of you pass me my kit bag?" Andy asked evenly, clearly trying not to react. "I'm looking for a spare nut for a high hat..."  
  
"Oh – um, sure," Patrick said quickly, grabbing the bag. "You want me to just find it for you?"  
  
"It's probably in the small pocket on the side."  
  
Patrick scrambled through the bag while Joe stayed hunched on the wheel arch, wishing this dude would go away. They hadn't exactly struck him as the sort of band who'd be cool with sharing air with 'a couple of fags'.  
  
"Here."  
  
Andy held out his hand and took the nut, passing it quickly to the other guy, who snatched his hand away hurriedly; like he thought he'd catch something if his skin actually brushed Andy's. He grunted something that may have been intended to pass for a thank you, and disappeared back into the building. Andy didn't follow.  
  
"That was dumb," he noted sternly. "You've got a fucking bunch of Jackboot Johnnies around and you're sneaking off and making out right there. Really smart."  
  
"It's not like that, dude," Joe protested quickly. "We just kind of, um..."  
  
"I don't even really want to know. We're in fucking Alabama – just learn to fucking think."  
  
He shut the door firmly before leaving them alone in the lot.  
  
"Shit, dude," Joe mumbled, dropping his head into his hands wearily. "We are so lucky that guy didn't kick our asses or something..."  
  
"Guys like that don't do shit by themselves," Patrick replied, reaching down to rub his shoulder. "They need all their stupid little friends. We'll be fine."  
  
 _Famous last words._  
  
Everything seemed fine until they actually got on stage. It wasn't a big crowd at all – the other bands, maybe fifteen to twenty locals – and Pete was having trouble with one of his pedals, so Patrick had turned and looked at Joe, picking out the first few bars of _Everlong_ with a little smile. Not even Pete knew the significance of the song, but Joe grinned back, not seeing a virtually full can of beer sailing through the air to smack him straight in the face. He staggered a little and tripped over a cable, landing on his ass. It all happened so quickly that Patrick seemed to take a few seconds to register it and Pete hadn't even had time to see what happened.  
  
Joe sat there for a few moments, clutching the side of his cheek where the rim of the can had connected almost with the side of his eye socket, slightly dazed. Patrick started toward him, looking anxious, and Pete was standing up and saying something vicious into his mic.  
  
"You okay?" Patrick asked, crouching in front of him, his guitar slung awkwardly to the side.  
  
"I... ugh. That fucking hurt, dude..."  
  
"HEY, FAG – WHY DON'T YOU TAKE YOUR LITTLE BOYFRIEND AND GO HOMO?"  
  
There was a peal of raucous laughter from the crowd.  
  
Joe wasn't going to just give up and run away with his tail between his legs, though; not after all the drama with Bradley Kennedy. He rubbed his eyes and climbed to his feet, feeling slightly dizzy, but determined to carry on.  
  
"Do you want to get out of here?" Patrick asked, reaching out to hold his arm to steady him.  
  
"No. It's... it's cool."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"I'm not quitting because some closet case wasted a drink, dude."  
  
The setlist said they were opening with Growing Up, but Pete was busily announcing another track entirely – one they'd only just written.  
  
"This is called, 'Tell that fucking closet case who thinks beating up the skinny Jewish kid makes him more of a man that he's getting bent over my amp after our set'."  
  
At least, that was the song Joe and Patrick both assumed he meant. Either way, it didn't do them any favours. By the time Andy was coated in Coke from a cupful smashing into the rim of his left tom, he was so pissed that he stood up, picking up the nearest can, and hurled it back into the crowd, yelling something indecipherable over the feedback and heckles. He grabbed his stool and his high hat and started carrying them off stage, making it very clear that as far as he was concerned the set was over.  
  
They were supposed to be loaning their basic drum set up to the band on after them, but Andy also had other ideas about that. In a few moments he was back – Joe hadn't even had time to unplug his pedal board – and started unscrewing his toms. People were still cat-calling and heckling and it was starting to feel really fucking scary. Joe almost forgot his amp in the rush to get his stuff out of there. He had to run back with Pete to carry it out to the van, and by the time they got to it, it had been doused in something sticky and wet.  
  
"Merch is fucked," Patrick announced grimly as they kicked the door open and heaved the amp to the van.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Some shitty excuse for a human being pissed in the merch box."  
  
Joe's stomach lurched. "That's _fucked up_."  
  
"What the fuck was their problem, even?" Pete asked, still sounding totally furious and throwing his bag of cables into the van with absolutely no regard for what they landed on.  
  
Patrick caught Joe's eye and took a deep breath. "Um... well, the drummer from that fascist band came over to the van with Andy, earlier, and Joe and I were kind of taking, y'know: a moment..."  
  
"What the fuck?"  
  
"We were... look, it was nothing major, but he obviously figured out that we're not exactly straight, okay? And we're sorry. We were inside the van – we didn't think anyone could see."  
  
"Are you trying to get fucking killed? Seriously?"  
  
"No – I was trying to convince him I didn't want to break up, okay?" Patrick snapped. "Now, can we just fucking go?"  
  
Pete stopped where he was and stared at him with a look of disbelief. "Breaking up?"  
  
"We're not. It's fine. Things are good. Better. Now can we _go_? And are we just gonna dump these shirts? Because they're fucking _rancid_ , now."  
  
"Hey, fags – why don't you get the fuck out of town, huh? Nobody wants your faggoty little asses around here."  
  
They all turned to look at the douchebag who had appeared in the doorway.  
  
"Why don't you just tell us which one of us it is you have your little crush on, so he can give you a little kiss?" Pete sneered back.   
  
Unfortunately, it was at that point that the douchebag's friends emerged from the stage door behind him, and suddenly Joe had a feeling this was all going to end very, very badly.  
  
"Guys – let's just like, _go_ – there's no point in staying here or anything..."  
  
"The kike's right, assbandit. Get the fuck out of town."  
  
"What the fuck did you just call him?" Pete demanded, starting to launch himself at the offending skinhead, only for Patrick and Andy to dive for him and drag him back. But there was nobody to hold back the other guy. It was fortunate that one of the guys from the bar and the owner of the venue stepped out in time to disperse the impending brawl which could surely not have ended well for them.  
  
"You: you bunch of Midwestern pansies, just get off of my property. And you bunch of morons, get back inside and get your shit off my stage."  
  
Aside from physically having to shove Pete into the cab, up front beside Andy, they didn't need to be told twice. For almost an hour they drove in silence. Joe hunched himself in a corner, tucked up against an amp with Patrick pressed close beside him. He was watching Pete from the floor, as he fumed quietly, staring out of the window while Andy floored the pedal to get them as far away from the experience as possible. Joe had been thinking about suggesting that they get a motel on his dad's credit card, one night, so that he and Patrick could have some space rather than being stuck in a van or on some stranger's floor, but he really didn't feel like risking it anymore. He could maybe understand high school jerks being dicks to preserve their asshole reputations, but why the fuck did strangers have to behave like that? It wasn't as though they'd done anything to them to begin with. How was their being together hurting _anyone_ , anyway? He was grateful for the fact that Pete had been there to stand up for them, because if he hadn't, Joe wasn't at all sure how things would have worked out. His face was sore and swollen from being hit with the can and Patrick had been shaking for at least twenty minutes after they got into the van. All Joe could do was tuck his arm around him and let him lean on his shoulder.  
  
It was Patrick who eventually broke the silence, announcing that he thought he was going to be sick from the smell of the urine-soaked shirts in the disintegrating cardboard box behind them.  
  
"We should get off the highway and into a town or something," Andy suggested, rubbing his forehead with his wrist. "Maybe we can find some 24-hour laundromat or something, see if washing the merch helps at all."  
  
"And we need some ice for Joe's eye," Patrick added, leaning his forehead on Joe's cheek just below the bruise and squeezing him. Joe just tightened his grip and whispered that he was fine.  
  
"I need some fucking coffee or something," Pete muttered darkly. "Let's get off this fucking road. I'm pretty sure we're far enough away that those assholes won't come looking."  
  
The first part of town they passed through was virtually empty at 10.30pm on a week night; a few small bars seemed to have lights on, but they were being cleared out for closing. It took nearly forty-five minutes to find a rundown section of the city with a corner store and a late-opening laundromat with a half-broken sign and garish strip lights above aged washing machines. They sat together on the central bench, watching the t-shirts spin while Patrick made an impromptu icepack from a t-shirt he'd only worn once before getting a blob of ketchup on it, and pressing the stain-free side to Joe's face for him as he ate some cookies Pete had brought him from the store.  
  
He didn't feel like he deserved to be fussed over – it was really only a black-eye and a swollen cheek – but he was grateful for the fact that none of them were blaming him for any of this. It was his sulking over nothing which had placed them in the van, and his being called malicious names that nearly got them into a fight... If he'd been able to get a grip in the first place, none of this would have happened.  
  
"So, um... I just wanna say, like... thanks, guys," he said quietly, when Patrick pulled the ice pack away to re-fold it so it wasn't pressing a damp patch against Joe's cheek. "I mean... just thanks, basically."  
  
"I kind of regret not kicking that anti-Semitic, homophobic asshole's face in, now," Andy admitted, stretching and cracking his knuckles tiredly.  
  
"Nobody fucks with my kid brother but me," Pete added seriously, slinging an arm around Joe's shoulders. "I'd take the fucking bunch of them on in a second if I had to, man."  
  
"Well," Joe shrugged, glancing at Patrick, "I guess that's why we're gonna get an apartment together, right?"  
  
Patrick broke into a broad grin, his head ducked a little as he added more ice from the plastic party-pack on the floor beside him, and pressed his knee to Joe's.  
  
"So we are, now?" Pete asked, almost pulling him into a brotherly chokehold. "I figured you thought it was a shitty idea."  
  
"Yeah," Joe shrugged, "but I guess I kind of like, got some sense knocked into me or something."  
  
Pete just laughed and let him go, stealing a cookie.  
  
Later, when Patrick and Andy had wandered off to find a dark corner to pee in before they got back on the road, Joe found himself sitting in the cab beside Pete and remembering why exactly it was he'd always looked up to him so much; how loyal he was to his friends and how he'd always been there to protect him when he was a kid. And clearly, still there to protect him even now.  
  
"Pete?"  
  
"You feeling okay?"  
  
"Yeah – yeah, I'm like... I'm fine. But I just want to kind of say sorry if I've been an asshole, recently."  
  
"You're always an asshole, dude."  
  
"I'm serious."  
  
Pete looked at him contemplatively for a moment and bumped his fist on Joe's shoulder. "It's cool. I get that you're really into him, bro, don't worry."  
  
"No, I know, but I should still be more like, trusting or something, I guess... and I just kind of fail at it."  
  
"Listen, you don't hear the way the guy talks about you. If you did you'd get why this is a dumb conversation to even have."  
  
There was a small explosion of pride in Joe's chest, hearing that. "Yeah?"  
  
"He's my best friend, whether he likes it or not, but I can get a fucking hint, kind of."  
  
"What hint?"  
  
Pete just grinned to himself and started the ignition as the other two walked back toward the van. "You saw him first, didn't you?"  
  
Joe grinned back, quickly switching to a grimace at the pain in his cheek. "Ow. Fuck... But yeah, I did, and I'm like, seriously glad I humiliated myself because otherwise I kind of doubt we'd even be here at all..."  
  
"I just can't believe you thought you had to get a book about it, instead of just coming to me or Hurley or whatever. You _know_ we're totally here for that."  
  
"Well, I was just like freaking out... And those dudes are exactly – wait a second. I never told you about that!"  
  
Pete just grinned wider. "I know more about you than you'd fucking _believe_ , bro. Actually kind of a lot more than I want to know. It's one thing to date your best friend and everything, but sometimes a dude's gotta have someone else to share shit with. He can hardly talk to you about why you're supposedly so fucking amazing... I'm pretty sure that's why he spends so much time at my place, or whatever."  
  
Joe had barely opened his mouth to ask what the hell Patrick had been telling him when the rear doors opened and the others climbed back in over the shoddily-packed gear in the back.  
  
"Are we good to go?" Patrick asked, leaning on the back of Joe's seat and rubbing at his hair affectionately.  
  
"Yeah," Joe nodded, catching his hand and glancing at Pete. "I think we're gonna be fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from 'Summer Hair=Forever Young', quote from 'Coppertone' by The Academy Is...


	15. Our Hearts Are Leaving Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe saw him first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAGOULE!

**The World's Not Waiting (For Joe Trohman to Stop Being a Pussy and Start Going For What He Wants)**  
 _Part Fifteen: Our Hearts Are Leaving Home  
  
"These are the trials of our youth."_  
  
  
  
"Are you sure you're both going to be okay if we leave? There's nothing you've forgotten or you're not sure about, is there, sweetie?"  
  
Joe grimaced as his mom squeezed his face affectionately, gazing at him with sentimental motherliness that he really didn't need, right now, because he might actually cry. "No, I think we're fine."  
  
"Cathie, they can call if they need anything. You've taken them through every feasible disaster, woman, if they can't work things out for themselves _now_ , then they really are doomed."  
  
"Thanks, Dad," Joe muttered, trying to duck out from under the hand ruffling at his curls and tucking himself partially behind Patrick for protection.  
  
"You boys take care of yourselves, you hear? I don't want to see on the evening news tomorrow that you've gone and blown the place up."  
  
"It's fine, Mr T, I won't let him near the oven without supervising," Patrick grinned, putting his hands behind his back to catch Joe's fingers and wrap them in his.  
  
"When is Peter moving in, did you say?"   
  
"Friday. So, like, six days or something..."  
  
"Fine. Well, I want you to take this – " Joe's father held out a small square of folded bills " – and keep it somewhere safe for emergencies. There's two hundred dollars right there, and an extra twenty for you kids to get yourself some take out or something when Peter moves in. Okay?"  
  
"Dude!" Joe breathed, tugging his hands free and moving to give his dad a hug. "Thank you."  
  
"Well, it's coming out of your inheritance..." his father joked, wrapping his arms around him in a tight bear hug. For a moment, Joe almost wanted to say, 'I can't do this, Dad, I want to come home,' but he didn't. It was scary, yeah, and seeing his mom doing her best not to break down in tears at her little boy moving out was kind of upsetting – but at the same time, this was it: this was being an adult and this was finally getting what he wanted - to live with his boyfriend and do his own thing. He may only have turned eighteen two weeks earlier, but he was definitely starting to feel like a grown up.  
  
"Honey, we should go – we still need to collect Sam."  
  
"True, true," Joe's father nodded with a sigh, letting him go.  
  
"Bye, Mom," Joe mumbled into his mother's sweater, realising with a peculiar clarity that he was looking down on her; he was taller than her, now, and he must have been for at least a couple of years, but it had never occurred to him. That was the moment when he _really_ felt grown up. "'Love you..."  
  
"I love you, too, Joey. I love you very much." She rubbed his back soothingly, the way she used to when he was a child and he ran to her crying because he'd skinned his knee. "You call me tomorrow, to let me know how you're both getting along, okay?"  
  
"Sure," Joe nodded, pulling away and smiling as she immediately reached for Patrick, to hug him too.  
  
Patrick's father and stepmother had stopped by earlier and his dad had spent a few hours helping to assemble flat-pack furniture while the women cleaned the place. Joe had met them before, but it was the first time the parents had met each other and they'd gotten on surprisingly well, even sticking around to share some pizza for a late lunch, when they decided to take a break. Patrick's mom was out of town and couldn't be there, and Joe knew how disappointed both she and Patrick had been about that – even if Patrick had insisted on shrugging it off and saying he was fine about it.  
  
He'd spent the weeks after the tour staying at the Trohmans' house, and Joe had loved every minute of it. Even the parts where his mom was trying to educate them seriously on budgeting and housekeeping and made them help with chores and have their own cart at the supermarket so they would actually pay attention to what it was costing them and think about the necessities. She'd tried to teach them to cook, as well, with varying degrees of success. The problem was that what she thought of as a "simple" dish generally made Patrick so muddled and frustrated that he stopped wanting to try. Eventually, he'd stopped altogether and they'd agreed that Joe would just do the cooking if Patrick did the dishes. It was a reasonable trade-off, in Joe's opinion; he liked cooking way better than washing up.  
  
His parents' reaction to their decision to leave home and get a place together had been strangely muted. They'd both seemed unsurprised that they wanted to do so – in fact, Joe was 99% sure they'd already discussed the prospect and agreed how to handle it, because their response was surprisingly cohesive and reasonable; almost to the point of appearing scripted – but they didn't seem to have banked on their choosing to live with Pete, too. Joe saw the look they exchanged and wanted to blurt out, "No – it wasn't my first choice, either, but like... I guess it'll be alright, if he ever gets the concept of like, _privacy_ or something..."  
  
They had all sat together around the kitchen table, and terms were agreed. If Joe agreed to go back into education – just part-time, to learn something vocational at a local community college – they would help with the rent and continue to pay him an allowance, seeing as they would have paid the same for him to attend college out of state, if he'd gone; and then he would have to make up the difference with a part-time job. Considering that Joe had half-expected to have their plans vetoed until he was twenty-one, it was a pretty sweet deal, in his opinion. They'd gone so far as to suggest that maybe they should buy a little apartment as an investment and let the boys live there as tenants, but Patrick wasn't happy about that at all and it had quickly been dropped as a bad idea. He was dead set on doing all of this by himself. He wasn't a trust fund baby like Joe and Pete were; his parents were far from poor, but they couldn't have afforded to pay his rent for him even if he'd been willing to let them. He'd found a job within three days of getting back from the tour – working at a record store in the Uptown area, not far from the Riv, for minimum wage and a lot of hours – and had insisted on giving Joe's parents something for keeping him, each week. Which had been fine until he realised they were paying it straight back into his checking account; after which they'd saved the cash and were keeping it for him in case he needed it.  
  
Patrick did already have some savings – his grandparents had opened an account for each of the kids when they were born, and the family had been putting cash in for birthdays and Christmas ever since. It wasn't a huge amount, but it was enough that he'd been able to manage a deposit on the lease and could keep things ticking over for the time being. Plus, his father had slipped him some cash as a "house-warming gift", which was basically code for, "I want to help you out but I know you're too obstinate to accept it directly."  
  
Joe was just glad that everyone had taken it so well; and that Pete had gone on vacation with his family, so that they actually had most of the first week to themselves. The apartment they'd chosen wasn't exactly huge – they managed to get a double bed in each of the three bedrooms, but Patrick's in particular didn't have a whole lot of floor space after all his stuff was piled into it. They'd already realised they were going to have to sleep in Joe's room that night, because there were boxes and bags of clothes all over Patrick's bed. The living room was a comfortable size, though; and the kitchen was big enough for a table and chairs. The bathroom was functional and clean-looking and as far as Joe was concerned, that was all that mattered. It was in a decent part of town – right in the centre of Roscoe village, a couple of miles from Patrick's work and Joe's college – walking distance if they were feeling particularly energetic – a couple of miles from the lake, and the cool areas like Boystown and Lincoln Park, and local music venues like the Beat Kitchen. All in all, they couldn't have picked a better spot to move to. And the rent wasn't so bad. Joe had convinced Pete that they should have the bigger rooms and pay a little more, so that Patrick didn't have to pay as much for his tiny room – he'd largely only use it to hold his stuff, anyway, because he could sleep in Joe's room most of the time.  
  
Closing the door as his parents made their way down the stairs out of the building, though, was in equal parts exciting and terrifying. This was it. This was living by themselves, now.  
  
Joe took a deep breath and exhaled it heavily, scratching a hand through his hair and giving Patrick a nervous grin. Patrick smiled back and opened his arms for a hug; it was the first moment they'd had all day. They'd been in there since 9am and it was after 9.30 at night, now – they hadn't had a minute to themselves to adjust to the fact that this was their new home at all. Being here, now, on their own was something of a shock to the system.   
  
"You tired?" Joe asked Patrick gently, as he cuddled him tight and yawned against Joe's shoulder.  
  
"Majorly."  
  
"Well, I mean – if you want to just like, get a shower and go to bed, we can..."  
  
"It's kind of early, though, isn't it?"  
  
"Who cares?" Joe shrugged. "It's our apartment."  
  
Laughing, Patrick gave him an extra-tight squeeze and looked up at him. "I can't believe we're here."  
  
"Me either."  
  
"It's like, y'know: we can do anything we want, now. We're _actual_ adults, living in our own place... nobody else's rules..."  
  
"It's kind of cool..."  
  
"And scary."  
  
"Seriously scary... But yeah, I mean, like... I kind of feel like we should be staying up all night and watching TV or something to make the most of it, but I'm way cool with just going to bed... We've got nearly a week without Pete anyway, right?"  
  
"We probably _should_ make the most of it, I guess..."  
  
Joe smirked and turned to flip the lock down on the front door, before shoving Patrick gently toward his bedroom.  
  
"Wait – I thought you wanted a shower, first?"  
  
"Well... yeah... I'm kind of icky from carrying shit up stairs all day, but I guess you can go first, though, if you want..."  
  
" _Or_..." Patrick prompted, looking at him pointedly and leaving him scrambling for whatever was supposed to come next in that sentence.  
  
"Um...?"  
  
Patrick didn't continue, he just gazed at him from behind his glasses as if Joe was supposed to read his mind or something.  
  
" _What_?"  
  
"Well, just... there's nobody else here..."  
  
"So?"  
  
"So..." Patrick began, tugging him toward the bathroom door.  
  
Joe blinked at him, staying firmly where he was.   
  
"How are you this _dense_ , Joe?"  
  
"What?"  
  
Sighing resignedly, Patrick dropped his hand and waved in the direction of Joe's room. "Never mind." His face was bright red, now, and Joe had a feeling he did _know_ what Patrick was asking – he just couldn't quite grasp it.  
  
"No, dude – what –?"  
  
"Doesn't matter..."  
  
Patrick closed the bathroom door, shaking his head impatiently, and Joe wasn't quite sure if that meant he was mad at him or not. Bemused, he wandered into his room and flopped down onto the bed. He half smiled to himself, thinking, _our bed, actually_. His mom had already made it up earlier in the day, putting on the new 'grown up' bedding she'd bought because he'd objected to the spare floral sets they used for the one in his parents' guest bedroom. Plain blue and grey was much more acceptable. He only had three boxes left to sort out – mostly his toys and collectables, all of which had three shelves allocated for them – and it actually kind of felt like _home_. It was scary, but he was going to be really happy here, he knew it.  
  
He was still contemplating this when the bathroom door opened and Patrick's voice called, "Shower's free," from the hall, followed by the sound of his own bedroom door opening.  
  
Joe sat up abruptly. "You're still sleeping in here, right?" he called back, his stomach sinking.  
  
There was a short pause, then a curious, "Yeah..."  
  
"Oh." Joe got up and made his way out to the hall to peek into the room next door. "What are you doing?"  
  
Drying his hair with a towel draped over his head like some kind of Sith hood, as it happened. Patrick merely spread his hands in response, as if to say, "What does it look like?"  
  
"Oh. Well, I'll just like... be really quick."  
  
He could hear Patrick chuckling to himself as he crossed the hall into the bathroom and habitually locked the door behind him. He didn't hear Patrick padding back down the hall to Joe's room, so he received the fright of his life when he walked into his supposedly empty room and found someone sitting in his bed.  
  
"Dude, this place isn't _that_ scary..."  
  
"I thought you were still in your room!"  
  
"You were worried I'd forgotten where I was sleeping, ten minutes ago... Are you getting in, or what?"  
  
"Yeah, I just need to find some boxers – give me a sec."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"What do you mean, 'why'? To sleep in. Obviously."  
  
"Suddenly, I feel _seriously_ underdressed."  
  
Joe stared at him. "You're - ?"  
  
"Well, there's nobody else here – I didn't think there was any point in getting out clean clothes to go to bed in. And y'know, at some point, we're going to have to get over the nakedness issue."  
  
"It's not an 'issue'..."  
  
"Then would you just get in bed? You're making me nervous."  
  
Making sure the door was firmly closed, Joe turned off the light and hung his towel on the empty coat hook on the back of the door, using the light from the streetlamps outside to find his way to the bed and climb in. They snuggled close to each other, finding the most comfortable position. The last few weeks they'd chosen to sleep in the single bed in Joe's bedroom, spooning together close to the wall, and trying to find a way to lie facing each other was awkward and kind of funny until Patrick was kneed in the nuts by accident.  
  
Needless to say, any hint of romance was dead for the night and they reverted to spooning.  
  
Laying there in the dark, one hand tucked under his pillow, the other laced with Patrick's, Joe murmured, "I guess this actually _is_ serious now, dude."  
  
Twisting to look back at him, Patrick murmured, "What?"  
  
"Well, first night we ever like, had a place completely to ourselves, and we're not even doing anything," he teased, blowing a raspberry against Patrick's bare shoulder.  
  
"You're not touching those again until I say so," Patrick replied with a small snicker of laughter. "But I do feel kind of old..."  
  
"Old and married..."  
  
"Old and married and boring."  
  
"You realise Pete's gonna like, find it even funnier if he thinks we're not doing it _enough_ than if he thinks we're doing it at all, right?"  
  
"Oh, we'll be doing it. A lot. Just not right now," Patrick assured him, kissing the side of his wrist.  
  
"That's gonna get expensive..."  
  
There was a soft, amused hum and then Patrick cleared his throat a little and began, a little too lightly, "I've been meaning to talk to you about that, actually."  
  
"About what?"  
  
"Us, and stuff."  
  
"Right...?" Joe prompted – not anxious, just curious.  
  
"So, I was thinking, y'know? About you and me and stuff, and how we've been together ages, now, and that we're serious and everything, right?"  
  
"Well, ye – "  
  
"That was rhetorical."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"But, I mean... we're not involved with anyone else or anything, are we?"  
  
"Was that rhetorical?"  
  
"Not really."  
  
"Oh. Well, no. _Obviously_ , no."  
  
"Cool."  
  
"Is that like, _it_?" Joe asked, more confused than ever. He thought they were pretty clear on that.  
  
"No! Let me finish..." Patrick huffed back with familiar impatience. "What I mean is, if we're serious about each other and we're not seeing anyone else, and we were both, y'know... _virgins_ when we started all this and we haven't been with anyone else, why are we even using them? I'm not gonna get pregnant or anything... it kind of just seems like a waste of money because there's nothing to protect us from."  
  
"Oh." Joe grimaced, feeling his face burning. Serious conversations about this stuff were always so embarrassing and uncomfortable – he'd usually prefer to just leave things alone – and besides, he could think of things they were protecting him from, thanks.  
  
"There's not... right?"  
  
"Well... yeah, kind of."  
  
He could feel the tension creep through every muscle in Patrick's body; he was holding his breath, like he was afraid to ask exactly what that meant.  
  
"It's nothing bad!" Joe told him quickly. "Not hugely bad, anyway..."  
  
"What did you do?" Patrick asked, and his voice shook and Joe wasn't sure if it was because he was angry, or because he was going to cry.  
  
"I didn't _do_ anything, dude, I promise. It's nothing I _did_."  
  
"Then what?"  
  
He took a deep breath, trying to get over his embarrassment and just admit his problem with it, but he was afraid even admitting that would piss Patrick off. Maybe he should forget it and agree, and deal with the issue as it arose. "Nothing. I'm like, being weird. Forget it. It's fine."  
  
Patrick shifted roughly onto his back, so he could look at him. "Joe, it's obviously not fine, because otherwise you wouldn't have said anything.` "  
  
"It's just me being weird, dude, just pretend I didn't say anything."  
  
"I can't! We're not talking about why you don't want to get sweet corn on a pizza or something – this is something really important to me, that I want us to do, and right now I'm kind of freaking out."  
  
"Don't freak out," Joe pleaded, leaning close to kiss him on the cheek, and feeling like an idiot and a prude. "It's fine, we'll stop using them, if that's what you want..."  
  
"Not until I know what your problem is with it. I have a right to know if there's something going on, here."  
  
"It's... look, it's not a big deal, I promise... I just kind of..." he trailed off with a sigh and focused on watching his fingers rub little circles on the front of Patrick's shoulder. "I really like doing it with you and everything – I mean, I pretty much love it. And _you_ , and everything –"  
  
"I love you, too."  
  
" – thanks – but the thing is... I kind of have this thing about being clean, right?"  
  
"...Yeah?"  
  
"Well. There you go."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
 _And you call me 'dense', dude, seriously?_ "It's just kind of... think about where I'm putting it."  
  
Patrick frowned a little and blinked a few times. "So?"  
  
"Well, usually it's got its little cagoule on so it's not so bad, but I just think it's gonna end up kind of... icky."  
  
"That's it? That's your problem? That it might be a little 'icky'?"  
  
"I told you it wasn't a big deal."  
  
"And did you really just tell me it usually has a 'cagoule on'?"  
  
"I think so."  
  
"Joe, you are the single most ridiculous person I've ever met."  
  
"I'm sorry..."  
  
"No, it's _fine_ , I wouldn't have you any other way, but you scared the shit out of me for a second, there, thinking that there was something wrong with you or something, and now you're talking about _cagoules on your dick_ and I just don't know whether I want to strangle you or kiss you, you jackass! You totally drive me insane sometimes, you know that?"  
  
"I'm sorry. I'll do it if you want to. I'll just have to get over the whole thing. Simple."  
  
"I don't want you to do it if you're not comfortable with it, I just thought that practically speaking, it was a good idea, and that maybe... I dunno. Maybe stuff like that didn't matter anymore... I mean, it's not like we haven't done other stuff. And I mean, you've never had anything on your _hands_ when you... y'know."  
  
Joe sighed and settled himself down on his back, laying them shoulder to shoulder and shrugged. "Well, I love you and everything but it's always going to be slightly gross... doesn't matter who it is. But I'll do it. Because I'm awesome and you want to. Except not right now, because I just took a shower."  
  
Patrick actually laughed and rolled against him to pull him into a kiss. "You are awesome. Sometimes. Sometimes, you're just fucking strange."  
  
Joe grinned and squeezed him so tight he couldn't breathe, until Patrick grasped his arms and pulled them loose, wriggling until he was more comfortable. Settling down, nose pressed to Patrick's still-damp hair, absently tickling the arch of his foot with his toes, Joe was just beginning to drift off to sleep when Patrick whispered:  
  
"But y'know: if this is the biggest problem we're going to have from now on, then life is gonna be pretty sweet."  
  
\---  
  
They had the next day together to get used to the apartment, and spent the day unpacking Patrick's possessions and the evening stretched out on the couch together, watching TV. It was simple, but it was their own time and their own space and Joe was really beginning to regret inviting Pete to live with them. On the Monday, Patrick was back to work, working 10am to 8pm at the record store, and Joe was back in class for his new course at community college. The campus was a few blocks away from Patrick's store, so when he finished his 12.30 session Joe headed up to the store to meet him for lunch. Patrick wasn't allowed to take it before two o'clock, because all the local students and desk monkeys tended to stop by on their lunch hours, and it resulted in perfect timing for them to get together and grab something to eat.  
  
They met at the junction of Wilson and Broadway, which was awkward because it was a block away from college and Joe wasn't totally sure he was cool with his new classmates stumbling across him kissing a dude on the sidewalk. In fact, living in the city – where there were _always_ people around – was going to be kind of complicated all over. Sure, nobody would pay much attention if they walked through Boystown holding hands, but that was just one tiny area that they neither lived nor worked directly in. At least in the suburbs there were fewer people to see them, because there were generally fewer people on the streets at any given time. Even at home they hadn't spent a lot of time clinging to each other in public, but at least they'd had more of an option, then.  
  
They strolled down to the park beside the harbour with hands firmly wedged into pockets and found a bench under one of the trees to settle on with their sandwiches, finally sneaking a kiss. Secretly, Joe was kind of sad that Patrick had packed his own lunch to take with him, because he'd liked the idea of bringing him his sandwiches and spending a little time together in the middle of the day. He still hadn't found a job of his own and he wanted to feel useful, rather than being a typical student and sitting on his ass in front of the TV when he wasn't in lectures. Instead, he decided to try out some of his newfound culinary skills that night, to prove his own little point. He was a grown up. He could take care of himself _and_ someone else.   
  
Actually _being_ in the apartment alone all afternoon turned out to be insanely lonely. He tried to fill the time with homework, at first, but he couldn't quite get into it. And then he tried getting out his guitar, but he broke a string and couldn't be bothered to replace it immediately, so he gave up on that, too. In the end he settled in front of the television and waited for Patrick to leave work and start the walk home. He'd offered to give him a ride, but Patrick had said something about calculating the time it took to walk, and insisted that Joe let him. Joe hadn't minded – it was a perfectly reasonable request – but waiting for him to get in was frustrating and he was actually kind of hungry. He didn't want to start cooking before Patrick got home and have it all laid out on the table, because that was way too 1950s and he was no apron-wearing lady, thank you, but he didn't want to eat by himself before Patrick got home, either.  
  
When he finally heard Patrick's key in the lock, Joe virtually bounced off the couch and rushed to the hall to meet him. Patrick's hair was stuck to his forehead at the sides and he looked a little red in the face, as if he'd been jogging.  
  
"Hey..."  
  
"What time is it?" Patrick asked, dumping his rucksack on the floor outside his room, and peeling off his jacket.   
  
"Um... like, eight fifty-five."  
  
"Really? So... that was like fifty minutes, because I left a little late..."  
  
"You look like you ran or something."  
  
"No... that's just the stairs."  
  
"Oh. Well, you're home, now, right?"  
  
"Thank God. I'm so tired I could just go to bed right now, honestly."  
  
Disappointment settled on Joe's chest and he tried not to let it show, adjusting his wristband distractedly. Of _course_ Patrick was tired – he'd basically worked ten hours, on his feet, and then walked over two and a half miles home. "Oh?"  
  
"I mean – I'm not _going to_ , but I feel like it," Patrick assured him, finally moving closer for a proper hello.  
  
"Well, you can if you want."  
  
"When would I hang out with you, if I went to bed now?" Patrick asked, as if the notion was beyond ridiculous. "I've hardly seen you, today, man."  
  
"Cool, 'cause I was like, going to make dinner or something but I wanted to wait until you got home..."  
  
"That would be pretty amazing."  
  
"Actually, it would probably be like, oven fries and pizza or something, but we said we'd eat together every night, didn't we?"  
  
Sitting together at the table in the kitchen, and eating the dinner they'd cooked while sharing news about their days, was quietly satisfying. They _talked_. And it wasn't about whether Pete was pissing Joe off today, or about Star Wars, or music. It would probably have been inane to anyone else, but for Joe it was _adult conversation_ – about work, and practicalities and stuff from the Real World, outside of the band, or their hobbies or any of that. If Luke had been there, instead of away at college, he would have laughed at Joe for this and called him boring, but for Joe it felt like the coolest conversation he'd ever had.  
  
After, they'd washed up and removed themselves to lay sprawled together on the couch; heads propped on the same cushion, Joe's chin tucked over Patrick's shoulder so he could see the TV, the tips of his fingers tucked under the waistband of Patrick's jeans with comfortable familiarity. He could feel the vibrations against his chest as Patrick laughed at the reruns on the television, and made him squirm, poking him idly in the belly during the commercials because he was bored. The resulting tousle culminated in Patrick wrestling him to the floor, where Joe settled, propped against the couch, and allowed Patrick to fiddle with his curls until he fell asleep.   
  
Joe left him there for a while, turning down the TV and heading to the kitchen to make them both sandwiches to take to work and college the next day. Searching through his rucksack for a biro that wouldn't smudge off the page, he made a point of leaving a note inside Patrick's Tupperware container, telling him he'd collect him from the record store, because he had a class at 1.30pm and couldn't meet him for lunch. Then, feeling proud of his handiwork, he switched off the TV altogether and took Patrick to bed.  
  
It was the happiest time of Joe's life. Patrick was so tired, most days, that they hardly touched each other sexually, but just getting to spend evenings curled up in each other's company, and to go to bed together every night and wake up and have breakfast in the kitchen every morning was almost better anyway. Joe had just wanted Patrick to himself all along, and at last he had it.  
  
By the time Pete arrived on Thursday, they were completely set into their routine and it was painfully jarring to come home from college and find boxes all over the hall, Lifetime on the stereo at full volume, and the kitchen awash with crumbs from whatever snack Pete had made himself during the day. Joe stepped over some of the packing crates behind the front door and peered into Pete's room.   
  
"You're like, _here_ , then..."  
  
Pete looked up from the floor and grinned at him broadly. "Roomie!"  
  
"I thought you weren't moving in until tomorrow..."  
  
"Got home early. Where's Patrick?"  
  
"Work. He doesn't finish 'til like, eight or something." _And then we were supposed to be like, having our last alone night together, and I rented a movie and everything..._  
  
"Oh, cool – well, I'll go get him in a couple of hours or whatever."  
  
 _Um, no you won't_. "It's fine, he's expecting me."  
  
"Well, it'll be a pretty cool surprise if I show up, won't it, kind of?"  
  
"No, it's fine – I'll go, dude." _He's_ my _boyfriend. If I say I'm collecting him from work, I'm seriously like_ , collecting him from work, _man_.  
  
"Whatever. We can figure it out later," Pete shrugged, and Joe knew that that meant, 'Dude, I'm going to collect him when you're in the bathroom or something and say I thought we'd agreed.'  
  
Sighing, he leaned away from the door frame and wandered down the hall, calling back, "My dad gave us money for take out."  
  
"Cool. I totally need to get some groceries and stuff, at some point. I borrowed some of somebody's bread for lunch."  
  
Standing in the kitchen, dumping his rucksack on a chair and gazing down at the plastic bag of groceries he'd picked up for dinner, Joe nodded slowly. Pete couldn't see him, but he didn't really have the energy or inclination to make any further acknowledgement. He'd promised Patrick that they would have one of the few pasta dishes he'd learned to make from scratch before they moved out of his parents' place. Most of it could be put away and saved for another night, that wasn't the issue, it was just that they'd _planned_ tonight and Pete probably didn't realise that, but really, Joe was quite sure he shouldn't have expected anything less from him. He always found a way to ruin things, intentionally or not.  
  
Tonight was supposed to be their big night, too. He hadn't told Patrick that, but it had been part of his plan and he'd been psyching himself up for it all week. He'd even invested in some wet-wipes to stash close to the bed, just for his own peace of mind; so he didn't find himself wanting to run off and shower in the middle of the night. Because it had taken him a while, but he _got it_ , now. He understood why it meant so much to Patrick for them to do things this way; it was about trusting each other: trusting that neither of them would stray and that if one of them did fuck up, he'd have the balls to be honest about it. If they were going to call it a serious relationship, then they needed to be committed to it. This was supposed to bring them closer.  
  
How fitting that Pete had managed to get in the way of that, too.  
  
The only reason Pete didn't sneak out to collect Patrick without Joe, was that Joe conveniently reminded him that they needed to find a local take out on the way home.  
  
"What's the matter with you, anyway?" Pete asked as they sat at the traffic lights, waiting for their chance to turn on to Ashland. "You've been wandering around pouting like a four year old, kind of."  
  
"Nothing," Joe muttered, gazing out of the driver's window, knowing that it wasn't convincing at all.  
  
"I call bullshit."  
  
"Look, you just like, _don't wanna know_ , okay?"  
  
"Are you two fighting or whatever? Because I told you that would happen..."  
  
"No! We're good. We've been _awesome_ , actually."  
  
"So, what's the problem? Is it your time of the month, or something?"  
  
"No. We were just like... not expecting you tonight."  
  
"Not expecting me?"  
  
"You were supposed to move in tomorrow."  
  
"So?"  
  
"'So', we had – " Joe cut himself off abruptly; there was no point in giving Pete something to tease them about this soon. "I mean, like... It doesn't matter now. Just forget it, basically."  
  
"Oh. Ohhhh, man – you had some romantic little evening planned, right? And I crashed it!"  
  
Joe kind of wondered why Pete felt that this was a laughing matter.  
  
"That's adorable," Pete continued, reaching over and pinching Joe's cheek affectionately. "You two are such a cliché it's unbelievable."  
  
"Why are we 'clichéd'? Because we actually like, _enjoy_ being together and don't get off on fighting about stuff?"  
  
Pete stared at him for a moment and then turned to look out of the passenger window sullenly. He didn't say anything else for the rest of the journey. By the time Patrick walked out of the store, waving goodbye to his colleague and grinning when he saw who was sitting in the passenger seat, the silence had grown distinctly awkward.  
  
"Hey!" Patrick beamed, throwing his bag into the back seat and leaning over Joe's shoulder to kiss him on the cheek, patting Pete's arm in greeting as he sat back down. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"Ruining your night, apparently..."  
  
Joe cringed and flicked the indicator lever down with unnecessary vigour.  
  
"What?" Patrick asked, catching Joe's eye in the rear view mirror.  
  
Joe just rolled his eyes and shook his head barely perceptibly. "We're getting take out – do you have any place you want to go?"  
  
"Um... isn't there that Wong's Wok place or whatever it's called? That looked kind of decent..."  
  
Shrugging, Joe pulled out into the traffic and headed towards home, not entirely looking forward to the next couple of hours.  
  
He hardly spoke as they sat in the kitchen, eating their dinner with disposable chopsticks from cardboard containers. He told himself he wasn't sulking, he just didn't have anything to add to the conversation, but it was that very fact that there was conversation he didn't feel like he belonged in that was so depressing. Usually, when they were together, Andy was around – or Chris, or _somebody_ for Joe to talk to, or to divert the conversation on to less focused topics. And when they moved to the living room, Joe stopping in the kitchen to throw away their empty containers and pick up the movie he'd rented, Pete sprawled himself across the couch, feet on Patrick's lap and leaving the easy chair under the window for Joe.  
  
Patrick was too busy arguing to even seem to notice. In fact, he was so busy arguing with Pete that they talked through the entire first hour of the movie. Neither of them were interested in watching it, and Joe couldn't even _hear_ most of it, so just after ten he gave up. He felt like a spare part and he was tired, so screw it.  
  
Patrick hardly even seemed to notice when he walked out of the room – although, to be fair to him, Joe didn't bother saying good night because he didn't want to interrupt their conversation; and perhaps – just maybe – because he was a little pissed off that his evening had been ruined. He'd even admit, privately, that maybe he was hoping Patrick would realise that he'd gone and come to bed. But even though Joe laid there for hours, waiting for him, the last thing he heard before he fell asleep, was Patrick laughing with Pete.  
  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from The Academy Is'... 'One More Weekend', quote from 'Coppertone'.


	16. To Make It Out Of This Disaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe saw him first.

**The World's Not Waiting (For Joe Trohman to Stop Being a Pussy and Start Going For What He Wants)**  
 _Part Sixteen: To Make It Out Of This Disaster  
  
"You can only blame your problems on the world for so long."_  
  
  
  
By the third week in November, things were getting a little strained. On Pete's first night in the apartment, when Joe had gone to bed alone, Patrick had crept in long after he'd fallen asleep and curled himself around him as if nothing was wrong. And laying there in the dark with his boyfriend finally tucked against him, Patrick's lips pressed against the back of his shoulder and one arm wrapped right across his chest possessively, Joe closed his eyes again and did his best to convince himself that there _wasn't_ anything wrong – but things only began to get worse.  
  
At first, Patrick's long hours were manageable because they had Sundays – and every other Saturday – and Joe could do his homework during the day, when he wasn't in classes, which left the evenings when Pete was off with whoever he was dating that week or working on Arma-related matters. They managed to scrape together the time to hang out, and Joe appreciated every second. The only problem was that he really needed a job in order to survive and when he got one, working pre-Christmas shifts in a toy store around his classes and on weekends, it killed both their Sundays and his free time for homework. Instead of spending evenings in front of the TV with Patrick, he was spending them in his room, typing up essays. Even on nights when they had shows they were generally surrounded by people, so it really didn't count and inevitably left him playing catch-up for days. They slept in the same room every night, but for Joe it was starting to feel like the only time they got to see each other was when they were getting ready for bed.  
  
He was stressed with college because his grades all but sucked for the fall semester, so far, and work was insane – plus, his manager was a douche with a stick up his ass and kept giving Joe shit for not stacking shelves tidily enough, even though he was lining Barbies up more meticulously than should have been humanly possible, only for bratty little kids to come knock them all askew every ten damn minutes. Working seriously fucking sucked, and he promised himself that as soon as his holiday contract was done, he'd find himself something better. Something that let him have some time to spend with Patrick. And on the band, too, because he'd hardly even had time to think about music since he started this damn job.  
  
Altogether, he was feeling pretty miserable. This was not what he had signed up for when he left home; not least because the time he was spending sitting at his computer generally involved concentrating less on his homework than it did listening to make sure he wasn't missing anything in the living room. When they had friends over he felt like he was in exile; when they didn't, he was just plain paranoid. He kind of hated himself a little bit for being so suspicious and unable to trust his own boyfriend and one of his best friends to be alone in a room together, but he just couldn't shake the feeling that if he wasn't around things would be very, very different.   
  
It was the last Saturday before Chanukah and Joe had already had a crappy day; the day before was Black Friday and he'd been working crazy-ass hours – starting before dawn to open the store and working until almost 9pm, then back at work for 9.30 the next morning. He'd only finished his shift at seven thirty and he had three thousand words to write over the weekend, but it was the first Sunday he'd had free in over a month and he fully intended to spend it with Patrick. So, as soon as he got home, he threw a microwave dinner in to heat up and then went to switch on his computer. He had barely managed a paragraph before the front door slammed shut and Patrick's voice cheerfully called out to tell him he was home. It was followed a few seconds later by the bedroom door opening and Patrick creeping up behind him for a surprise cuddle.  
  
"Day off tomorrow!" he reminded Joe gleefully, as if there was any chance that he had forgotten, and kissed him soundly on the cheek.  
  
"Yeah," Joe nodded, deleting the keymash which had turned his previous sentence to gibberish when Patrick grabbed him. "How was work?"  
  
"Work was... y'know: work. I'm getting kind of sick of hearing 'Fairy Tale of New York' but John won't play any other Christmas songs... How are you?"  
  
"Kind of busy."  
  
"More homework?" Patrick asked, and Joe could hear the disappointment in his voice.  
  
"I had this handed back to me, because apparently I just like... totally misunderstood the whole question, so..."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"I have to hand it in on Monday morning or they won't even grade it, basically."  
  
"Is it gonna take long, or...?"  
  
"It's gonna take tonight, at least."  
  
There was a short pause as Patrick straightened up and rubbed at Joe's shoulders soothingly for a moment. "It seems to be kind of a lot of work for a part time course, dude..."  
  
"Yeah, it's part-time because I'm doing most of it at home."  
  
"So... tomorrow...?"  
  
"Dude, I'm _trying_."  
  
"No, I know, but – "  
  
"The more time I kind of like, sit here talking, the less time I have to write..."  
  
"Well... what if I just hang out here? I can read or something..."  
  
"You usually never want to..."  
  
"Well, mostly because you don't seem to want me to..."  
  
"Huh?"   
  
Patrick didn't say anything at first, he just dropped his hands on the back of the chair and patted at it pensively. "Every time I come in here, you're like, 'Yeah, I have to do four essays,' or something."  
  
"Because I do! If I flunk out of college my parents will be like... _seriously_ disappointed in me, and I promised them I could do this. I can't afford to fail."  
  
"But it just sounds like you don't even want me hanging around you."  
  
"I can't concentrate if you're sitting here talking to me, Patrick! I'm like, barely scraping _Ds_ right now!"   
  
"Well... _why_?" Patrick asked, moving to crouch down beside him, so he could look up at him; he pulled Joe's hand away from the keyboard and held it tightly. "You're smart – smarter than I am – and you pretty much sailed through school, right?"  
  
"Well, yeah... I did. But this _isn't_ school. It's harder than school. And I thought I cared about this subject but I just... I don't. I don't want to like, spend all my time sitting here like a fucking nerd when you're all hanging out in the living room or whatever..." _And I can't concentrate when I can hear you laughing with him, when all I really want is to be hanging out with you myself, basically._  
  
Sighing and rubbing the bridge of his nose with his knuckles, knocking his glasses sideways clumsily, Patrick tried, "Maybe you're just doing the wrong course, or something, y'know? And maybe you're working too hard. I mean, you're at school like four half days and then you go to work, and then you come home and do homework... That has to work out at like, fifteen or sixteen hour days, sometimes, Joe. And y'know: I kind of miss you, actually."  
  
"Do you?" Joe asked, and he didn't mean to sound so doubtful, but he just didn't have the energy for this right now.  
  
"Don't you?"  
  
"All the time, pretty much," Joe admitted, trying to hide the fact that the stress was bubbling to the surface and kind of making his eyes prickle. "I just have so much to _do_ right now..."  
  
Kissing his knuckles gently, Patrick stood up shaking his head and deliberately wheeled the chair back with Joe still in it.  
  
"What are doing?"  
  
"Switching this off."  
  
"No – Patrick I haven't saved it!"  
  
"Yeah, I'm not stupid, I was going to save it first."  
  
"But –"  
  
"Do it tomorrow."  
  
"No, tomorrow's suppo – "  
  
"You're doing it tomorrow, okay? This is stupid, Joe. You need to take a break sometimes, y'know? And honestly, all you're gonna do right now is write a bunch of crap you'll have to re-write tomorrow anyway. You're too tired and you're too bummed about everything. I don't care if I lose tomorrow, okay?"  
  
"But... I do," Joe told him, rubbing at his eye tiredly. "I just wanted to like, get all this done so we could have the whole day, or something."  
  
"Yeah, but this way I get to have you now, instead," Patrick reasoned. "We could... I dunno, watch a movie or something. Pete's not gonna be home until the early hours anyway..."  
  
Joe nodded; for the first time in weeks, things were looking a little brighter – if only for this weekend.  
  
For almost two hours, it was perfect. They ran down to their local take out to buy dinner – Joe's microwave meal having been long forgotten in the kitchen – and sat on the couch together, eating it from the box while watching Law & Order. And then Pete came home, with Chris, Charlie and a handful of other people in tow, and Joe's heart sank. He'd known it was too good to be true.  
  
"What are you doing back?" Patrick demanded, as Joe hurriedly straightened up from where he'd been laying in Patrick's lap. "You said you wouldn't be back until at least 2am."  
  
"We're having a party, kind of," Pete told him with a shrug and what was probably supposed to be a disarming grin.  
  
"Right now?" Patrick asked through gritted teeth, giving him such a dark look that Joe was almost inclined to reach out and hold him back.   
  
"Dude, it's Saturday night!"  
  
"You couldn't have asked us, first?"  
  
"Well, you're here anyway. I don't _need_ to invite you if you're already here..."  
  
"Maybe we didn't want an invite _or_ a damn party!"  
  
Pete quirked an eyebrow at him and then glanced at the little group that Joe didn't think he'd spoken to before. "Dude, chill out, kind of..."  
  
"You know what? Maybe we'll just go to bed," Patrick snapped, getting to his feet and pulling Joe's wrist until he stood up.   
  
"Um... okay?" Pete shrugged, watching them go. Joe couldn't meet anyone's eye; now every single one of them knew that they were together. He felt a little sick just thinking of it.  
  
"He fucking _promised_ he wouldn't be home this early..." Patrick fumed as he slammed the door behind them. "He totally knew this was the first evening we've even had in ages!"  
  
"I should be doing homework anyway," Joe shrugged, moving to switch his computer back on listlessly. They'd had a couple of hours, it was better than nothing.  
  
"Don't go back to that..." Patrick complained, pulling the back of Joe's shirt. "I mean – we're here, now... why don't we just go to bed?"  
  
"There are people right outside!"   
  
"Well, I'm not saying we should leave the door open or even that we have to _do_ anything... I just..." he scratched the back of his hair absently and shrugged, "I just don't think this needs to ruin our night."  
  
As far as Joe was concerned it already had, but he pushed the chair back under his desk and crawled onto the bed instead, propping himself against the pillows and waiting for Patrick to climb on beside him. Patrick made a point of engaging the Pete-proof lock and switched off the overhead light, so that the room was lit only by the lamp beside the computer, then bounced onto the mattress next to him.  
  
They lay there quietly, for a few minutes, listening to the laughter from the living room; Joe's head on Patrick's shoulder and Patrick's cheek pressed against Joe's curls.  
  
"Y'know, what I said about a year?" Patrick muttered after a while. "Let's make it six months..."  
  
Joe gave a weary snort of laughter and tugged the arm around his shoulders a little tighter. He couldn't even be bothered with an 'I told you so' right now. It wasn't even just Pete that was the problem, anymore. They didn't have _time_ to be together; not really. And it was Joe's fault – because he'd chosen the easy way, and promised his parents he'd study, in return for what was _supposed to be_ an easier life. If he wasn't doing all his college stuff and spent a few more hours working it would be so much easier... But it was too late. He had to do this for at least one academic year; he'd given his parents his word.  
  
He was just going to have to deal with it.  
  
Maybe he'd work less hours when this job ended... it'd mean he had less to live on, but who needed food anyway? There was a tendency toward plumpness in his family, so it was better safe than sorry... His parents wouldn't let him starve, would they? What did it matter if he ended up living on ramen and had to depend on Napster for his music? He pretty much did that right now anyway.  
  
"What are you thinking?" Patrick asked eventually, tickling his ear. "You're being kind of quiet..."  
  
Joe shrugged. "Stuff."  
  
"What stuff?"  
  
Joe shrugged again. "College. Work... everything, basically..."  
  
"The semester ends soon, though, doesn't it? You have a couple of weeks then..."  
  
"I'm like, working for most of it."  
  
"You are?"  
  
"Yeah..." Joe nodded. "Sales through New Year and January, then I need to get a new job."  
  
Patrick gave a despondent little laugh and mumbled into Joe's hair, "Feels like I would have seen you more if we'd just gone away to college, sometimes..."  
  
"Maybe we should have." _'Cause you ruined your life for this and it sucks already..._  
  
"It's kind of too late to worry about that now."  
  
 _But you're regretting it, though. You actually do regret it, you just don't want to say so._  
  
"We'll figure something out. It's not like it's forever..."  
  
"I hope not."  
  
"Of course it's not," Patrick assured him, shifting to pull him into a proper cuddle, which Joe gratefully snuggled into. "We've finished recording the album – it's only a matter of time, now, right? One day, we won't even need jobs. We'll spend all day, every day together, like we did on tour."  
  
"Touring sucked, though. I _know_ you hated it, dude."  
  
"I _hated_ being stuck in that van," Patrick corrected, picking up Joe's hand and lacing their fingers, palm to palm. "I _loved_ being with you. I only even agreed to do this band because of you..."  
  
"You agreed because it had Pete from Racetraitor in it," Joe reminded him, laughing half-heartedly.  
  
"If it was about 'Pete from Racetraitor' it would have taken a little more to convince me to sing... I only agreed because I didn't think you'd have me, if I didn't. And I really wanted to get to know you."  
  
"You're just saying that to kind of like make me feel better..."  
  
"Um. Except I'm not."  
  
"I'm not good looking enough for that to be true... you have to have like, _gotten to know me_ before you figured out I was okay or whatever..."  
  
"Actually, I was there. I know what I was thinking."  
  
Joe just sighed heavily and let it go. He still didn't believe it, but if Patrick wanted to remember it that way there was no point trying to correct him.  
  
"Joe... I know you're unhappy about the way things are right now, but... Yeah, I miss you, and sometimes it feels like we're not even together right now, and – and _yeah_ , okay, it's frustrating and I probably hate this more than I'm really accepting, right now, but I just keep telling myself that in a few months time, it'll all be different. And y'know... I know pretty much nothing about Sociology, but if there's anything I can do that'll help... like read your essays before you submit them or something, then I am totally, _totally_ prepared to do that."  
  
"That would be cool," Joe whispered, starting to feel a little less hopeless and holding Patrick just a little tighter.  
  
"You're not a stupid guy, y'know? You're just trying to do way too much."  
  
"I'm just whining, pretty much..."  
  
"I'd be whining too, if I was trying to keep up with college and work and never getting a day off or anything..."  
  
"And I mean, like... Chanukah starts on Saturday. And my family aren't seriously dedicated to like, doing all the holidays and everything, but my mom and dad always made a proper effort about observing Chanukah and giving us actual presents and stuff, instead of just money, so me and Sam didn't feel left out when all our school friends were getting presents and stuff at Christmas..."  
  
"But you'll be seeing them during the eight days or something, though..."  
  
"I know. But it's just like..."  
  
"Not the same?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Patrick nodded slowly, tugging Joe's curls out to their full length, lock by lock, and curling them around his fingertip before letting them go and moving on. "Well, I'm not converting, but I'll celebrate it with you... if you want."  
  
Joe pulled back a little and looked up at him, a sudden rush of warmth in his chest; "Really?"  
  
"Of course!" Patrick laughed. "As long as I don't have to have anything sliced off first... I'll do one of the little hat things if I have to, though. It'd cover my bald spot pretty good, I think..."  
  
Joe actually laughed – a _proper_ laugh – and propped himself up to look down at him, to see if he was really serious. Patrick just scrunched his nose up, making his glasses bob on his face, and ruffled at Joe's hair playfully.  
  
"Do you want me to?" he asked, starting to look a little self-conscious when Joe didn't say anything, like maybe he thought he'd suggested some heinous religious faux pas.  
  
Joe just gazed at him for a moment, not really sure how to tell him how much this meant; then, he simply nodded and leaned down to kiss him. For some reason, he always found himself unable to really articulate his feelings with Patrick – unless it was to say something maudlin or flippant. He _wanted_ to say, 'I didn't think I could like, _actually_ love you any more until about thirty seconds ago when you said that, basically,' but some part of him was still afraid that if he said it – if he _really_ opened up and laid his feelings on the table – that Patrick would laugh and say, 'Sike!'  
  
On Monday night, though, when Patrick got home from work, he pulled a parcel wrapped in paper from his bag and presented it to Joe with palpable pride – holding it out in both hands and his lip clamped firmly between his teeth.  
  
"I hope you like it," he gushed, as Joe unfolded the paper curiously. "I mean, I asked the old lady in the supermarket on West Devon and she told me she'd be pleased if a 'friend' gave her that, so I figured it was kind of traditional without being way too fancy or anything... And it's not expensive or anything – it's not even silver, I think it's pewter, but she said that was okay. I guess they wouldn't make them if they weren't supposed to be like that, y'know?"  
  
Somehow, Joe knew even before he opened it what Patrick had bought – but he still stared at it like it was the coolest thing he'd ever owned.  
  
"You _actually_ went out and bought a menorah?"  
  
"Well... yeah. I figure we need one. Unless you already have one, because I mean, this is your first year away from home, so I thought – "  
  
"No, dude, I probably would have like, borrowed one from my grandma or something... This is just... _so fucking cool_." He ran his fingers over the Star of David embossed on the front, below the raised centre holder for the Shamash and looked at the ornate Hebrew wording along the side with near-speechless awe; he couldn't read a word of it, but he knew what it represented. It wasn't like the complicated candelabras his grandparents had – it was almost rectangular, with small curved legs to stand on at each corner; in fact, it almost looked like it could be a long, narrow treasure chest with nine simple, bell-shaped candle holders on top and intricate designs on the curved, vertical sides. It was probably mass-produced and it wasn't overly showy, but it was _nice_ and it pretty much meant the world to Joe, just then. And every day that Patrick worked through his lunch hour as a trade-off for leaving the store as early as possible to be home respectably close to nightfall, and every time Joe caught a glimpse of the gold chain around his neck – the very same one which his grandmother had given Patrick on the day Joe turned seventeen, but which had lived in the back compartment of his wallet ever since and would return there when Chanukah was over, no doubt – it meant a little more.  
  
So when Chanukah was over, and they were both working their regular hours again, being apart so much became a whole lot worse. They tried hanging out in the bedroom while Joe did his homework, but they'd just end up talking or making out and getting nothing done, so Joe would be up all night trying to finish his work and Patrick would end up sleeping by himself in his own room.  
  
That was the worst part: not even sleeping in the same bed, some nights, because that was part of their promise to each other. This was how they'd know if they could really make things work, and they couldn't even manage their trial period properly.  
  
On one of the rare nights when they went out to play a show, in those few weeks before Christmas, Joe caught him staring at two kids by the wall at the side of the venue – a boy and a girl, clearly dating and probably only as of recently, if their hesitant closeness was anything to go by.  
  
"Remember when we were like that?" Patrick asked, tipping his drink in their direction slightly.  
  
Joe shrugged, shaking his head and gazing into his plastic cup of Sprite. He didn't want to remember how things _used to be_ , because it made the way things were _now_ even more depressing.  
  
"We used to be afraid to even bump hands in public..."  
  
"With like, pretty good reason, though, man... Look what happened every time someone figured us out..."   
  
"But we still wanted to."  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
Patrick looked up at him for a moment, a slight frown on his face. "You do still want to, don't you?"  
  
Joe glanced around them quickly and caught Patrick's fingers for a moment, by way of response. Patrick grasped them tight until Joe carefully pulled away again.  
  
"I kind of miss that – feeling like what we were doing was actually _dating_ , y'know? It was exciting, having this whole secret and just kind of sharing it together... now I just get excited about there being a night when you don't have homework."  
  
Joe just nodded slowly and said nothing. After a few miserable minutes, he wandered outside without bothering to tell him where he was going. He knew this was coming; he'd figured that Patrick would get too lonely and bored eventually, but he really didn't want to hear him _say so._  
  
"Hey – hey, Joe, did you hear?" Pete's voice asked as he climbed over the low wall outside and sat down beside him.  
  
"Hear what?" _That my life sucks and my boyfriend is getting sick of our shitty relationship?_  
  
"The band that's supposed to be headlining just pulled out – we're top of the bill now, bro."  
  
"Oh," Joe shrugged, gulping down his pop like it was bourbon.  
  
"Dude – this is a _good thing_! They have scouts here, man."  
  
"So, why'd they like, pull out or whatever?"  
  
"They just fucking broke up, dude."  
  
"They _broke up_?"  
  
"Yeah, man. The bassist was that girl with the green hair, yeah? Well, turns out she was engaged to the singer and they just... basically, I think they just broke it off, kind of."  
  
Joe's stomach sank. "Yeah?" _What is this? Some kind of fucking omen?_  
  
"Yeah – yeah, I was talking to that guy Steve, who was their drummer or something, and it all just kind of fell apart this week, dude. They've been dating since they were like, sophomores in high school or something, and with the band and living together and getting married and all that shit they just kind of got sick of each other, it sounds like..."  
  
"Bummer."  
  
"Yeah, man, seriously." Pete paused and stared at him for a minute or two, until Joe couldn't ignore him any longer and asked what he was looking at. "What about you, bro?"  
  
"Me?"  
  
"Well. Yeah. You and Patrick, man."  
  
"I dunno."  
  
"You don't?"  
  
Joe shrugged and swirled the dregs of his drink in the bottom of the cup.  
  
"So, what's going on?"  
  
"We should have like, gone to college and quit while we were ahead, basically..."  
  
Pete blinked and looked around them quickly to make sure no one was listening, before asking, "Why? What happened?"  
  
"He's bored of being with me."  
  
" _Patrick is_?"  
  
"I don't even blame him, dude."  
  
"He actually _said this_ , kind of?"  
  
"Basically."  
  
"But it's not... I mean you're not gonna let it get in the way of the band or anything, right?"  
  
Joe didn't really know, but he didn't have time to reply because Patrick appeared in the door way to the venue and looked exasperated when he caught sight of them.  
  
"Hey – where d'you go?" he asked, walking over and scuffing the toe of his sneaker against Joe's.  
  
"Here?" Joe replied, shrugging.  
  
"Why didn't you say? I was looking for you..."  
  
"I just wanted to get outside for a minute, and like, you were watching the band, so..."  
  
"Yeah, but I would've come with you if you'd said – we hardly get any time together, so I kind of wanted to spend what we have actually _with you_ , instead of hanging around like an idiot, wondering where you went!"  
  
Joe could feel himself blushing crimson. "Dude, there are _people around_ , would you like, not shout our business out right now?"  
  
"How about you both just chill out a little?" Pete cut in.  
  
Patrick sat down on the wall next to Joe, pressing their knees together subtly because he couldn't reach for his hand or really put his arm around him, out here. "What's up, huh?" he asked quietly. "Did I piss you off or something?"  
  
"It's fine," Joe told him, shaking his head. "I just wanted a minute to myself."  
  
"With Pete?"  
  
"Don't drag me into this..."  
  
"He just showed up to tell me we're like, headlining or something."  
  
"Wait. We are?!"  
  
"Headliners broke up, dude," Pete explained, standing up and dusting his jeans down as he walked away. "Ask Joe why."  
  
Patrick stared at him as if he'd somehow played a role in it. "Why'd they break up?"  
  
"Because two of them were getting married and now they're like... _not_."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Two of them were engaged. And they broke up. So the band broke up."  
  
For a moment, Patrick sat there quietly, as if he was considering the scenario. And then, finally he just said, "It happens, I guess."  
  
Joe nodded. _It's only like, a matter of time before it happens to us_...  
  
\---  
  
Laying in bed after the show that night, Joe stroked the hair from Patrick's sleeping face and kissed his forehead. He couldn't stop thinking about that other band and how everything they'd achieved had been ruined because of two members' problems. He wondered what had gone so wrong for them that one minute they were going to spend the rest of their lives together, and the next, they couldn't even stand to be in the same band anymore.  
  
 _"... with the band and living together and getting married and all that shit they just kind of got sick of each other..."_  
  
How long before Patrick got sick of him? He was already bored of a relationship where they hardly had time for each other – he'd as good as said so – and if Patrick got sick and tired of this and started to feel like being with Joe was wasting his time, then what? What if they ended up like that other couple? They were _engaged_ – they were happy enough together and had been together so long they were ready to commit to a whole lifetime together – but even they couldn't hold it together.  
  
What chance did he and Patrick have if people even older than them couldn't hold it together?  
  
There had already been fights and jealousy, and sleeping in separate beds. What if it got out of hand? If they couldn't make it work? Or get rid of the wedge that work and school and Pete was driving between them? What if it was never going to be the same again? What if they ended up angry and hating each other, like the couple in the other band? Because it was obvious: they couldn't juggle everything – and he didn't want to end up like that. He couldn't stomach the idea of Patrick hating him, or the thought of what it would do to the band. Pete had quit college for this band. Andy would probably just go back to any of the others – but they were putting out an album, and the scout at the show had been really into them, too. There was a real chance that the band would go somewhere, and if Patrick ended up hating him from the frustration of being stuck in a relationship that wasn't going anywhere, then it would all come crashing down. Everything.   
  
Maybe... maybe it would just be kinder on everyone to let go before it came to that, no matter how much it hurt. At least this way they could still be friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Four Year Strong's 'Abandon Ship or Abandon All Hope'; quote from 'The (Shipped) Gold Standard'.


	17. Concentrating On Falling Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe saw him first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't read this chapter at work or school.

**The World's Not Waiting (For Joe Trohman to Stop Being a Pussy and Start Going For What He Wants)**  
_Part Seventeen: Concentrating on Falling Apart  
  
"You've got to promise not to stop when I say 'when'."_  
  
  
  
  
Joe was curled into a corner of the couch when Patrick wandered into the living room. It was still winter-dark outside, before six and cold; he hadn't turned any lights on when he crawled out of bed a couple of hours earlier, he just wanted to be alone and think. He couldn't contemplate breaking up with Patrick while the guy was laying there on the same pillow. It didn't feel right. Or fair. Even if it was Patrick he was doing it for, mostly. It certainly wasn't for himself, unless he counted the selfishness of not wanting Patrick to eventually hate him.  
  
He'd almost convinced himself by the time Patrick appeared, squinting sleepily with one eye open and only wearing his boxers.  
  
"Dude...? What're you doing? It's like... 5.40 in the morning... you okay?"  
  
Joe nodded, chewing the edge of his thumb and managed to mumble, "Yeah..."  
  
Yawning, Patrick stumbled over to him and clambered onto the couch – almost on top of him – and nuzzled into Joe's shoulder until Joe gave in and wrapped his arms around him, rubbing his skin gently to keep him warm.  
  
"Why aren't you in bed? It's cold out here."  
  
"Couldn't sleep."  
  
"What's wrong?" Patrick asked, kissing him on the cheek and rubbing Joe's ankle fondly with his toes.  
  
At first, Joe couldn't say anything, he just kept on holding him tight. He wasn't ready for the truth; not yet. So he lied. "It's nothing... just college stuff."  
  
"I wish you wouldn't get so stressed with it, dude... I mean, I hate seeing you like this. You're always miserable, y'know? You used to be such a laidback, happy guy... I miss that Joe..."  
  
Joe didn't reply, he just let Patrick fall asleep cuddled against him, more convinced than ever about what he was going to have to do.  
  
\---  
  
He could barely concentrate over the next couple of days; twice he caught himself stacking toys upside down, and he forgot to show up to a class altogether. Patrick seemed to realise there was something genuinely wrong – he didn't seem to know whether to be doubly attentive or give him space, which just resulted in him hovering around awkwardly and making things even more unsettled. He continually asked if Joe was okay, and Joe didn't know what to tell him.  
  
_"No, things aren't okay, because I need to break up with you and I don't want to, or know how to tell you, but I'm afraid that if I don't, I'll just like, lose you completely..."_  
  
It wasn't really a conscious choice, but by Friday night, when he found himself agreeing to go and hang out with some of the kids from his store, just for an excuse not to be at home, he realised that he was actively avoiding him. He didn't even know his colleagues that well – they were basically friendly people and he talked to them around the store, but he was rapidly realising he had nothing in common with them. All they wanted to do was sit around in Craig's apartment and get wasted and he was starting to feel deeply uncomfortable with it. After an hour, he made his excuses and left. But he still didn't go home; he drove around until he found somewhere to park, close to the lake, and just sat by himself, listening to one of the CDs Patrick had made him when they first started dating.  
  
If he could have turned back the clock, and just stuck at one point of his life forever, it would have been the winter after he turned seventeen. Patrick's curfew had been lifted, they were really close – sleeping together, finally, even if they were still refining the art – they hadn't fallen into the anxiety or worry about college and even though Patrick was working a lot, after school, they still had enough time to enjoy being with each other and work on the band.  
  
Aside from those few days after they'd moved into the apartment, nothing had ever been that good again.  
  
He wanted to remember that time, and how awesome it was... how happy they were and how lucky he felt. The way things were going now, it was just going be eclipsed by the difficulties that had sprung up from trying to do this so soon. The fact was, they should have waited. Maybe they should have gone to college and seen each other on weekends and spent evenings emailing or IMing each other from the security of campuses a few hundred miles apart.  
  
It was too late to go back to that, though. Now, they had to live with their choices and be adult about the fact that it wasn't as easy as they'd been cocksure enough to think.  
  
He lost track of the time, after a while; it was only when his phone started vibrating in his pocket that he realised it was after eleven. The small, green screen flashed 'Home' at him for a few seconds before he realised that meant the apartment, not his mom. He was actually disappointed; it hit him suddenly how much he wished it was her, but he didn't want to go to her and admit that he couldn't cope. His parents – especially his mother – completely adored Patrick; they'd be horrified if they thought Joe was going to break things off.  
  
"Joe?" Patrick's voice asked as soon as he pressed the button to accept the call. "Dude – where are you?"  
  
"Um... nowhere, just down by the lake."  
  
"The lake?" he echoed, sounding more confused than anxious, now. "Why?"  
  
Joe shrugged, even though he knew Patrick couldn't see him, and mumbled, "I don't know."  
  
For a few moments, there was silence, as if Patrick didn't know what to say in response. He sounded worried again as he asked, "Are you... I mean, you're coming home, right?" He paused for a second and then hurriedly added, "Not right now. I'm not trying to make you come home right now, if you don't want to, but... you will, won't you? Eventually?"  
  
"Y-yeah. Yeah, I'll be home in a little while, I just..."  
  
"You're okay, aren't you?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Do you promise?"  
  
One thing he wouldn't do was promise that there was nothing wrong, when there very clearly was. Instead, he turned his key in the ignition and started up the engine. "I'm coming home now. I'll be back in like ten minutes, okay?"  
  
"Really?"  
  
"I promise." At least that wasn't a lie.  
  
Patrick was sitting on the top step, outside the apartment door, when Joe got home; the cordless phone was still in his hands and he leapt up as soon as he saw Joe round the corner in the stairwell, opening his arms for a hug.  
  
"Hey..." he sighed gratefully, and Joe really didn't understand what was going on. "Are you hungry or something? Do you want food?"  
  
"Um... kind of, I guess..."  
  
Patrick led him in into the apartment by the hand, holding on so tight he left little white pressure marks when he let go. "I'm sorry I kind of freaked out," he explained, putting the telephone receiver back in its holder, "it was just getting late and you weren't home, and you never go anywhere without me or Pete, and... y'know. You like, _hear stuff_."  
  
"What stuff?" Joe asked, hanging up his coat and following him into the kitchen.  
  
"Oh, it'd sound dumb, if I told you..." Patrick laughed self-consciously. "Is something I can microwave okay?"  
  
"You don't have to make me anything, dude."  
  
"No, I know, but..." he trailed off, looking twitchy; like he was afraid of doing the wrong thing again, and Joe really didn't know how to handle it. He couldn't say 'everything's fine' because it wasn't; but if he didn't, he'd make him suspicious. He didn't even want to kiss him because that felt like it was leading him on.  
  
"Then... yeah, something microwaved is like, fine, dude."  
  
Joe sat down at the table and watched as Patrick busied himself with getting a vegetable lasagne from the freezer and removing the packaging. Usually, he wasn't like this. He was right, Joe rarely went out with anyone else – or even went to his parents' without telling him, because he didn't have the time – but he was only a few hours late home. Patrick was acting like he'd been gone for days.  
  
Finally, Patrick slid into the chair beside him, handing him a drink, and just sat there, tipping his seat forward on two legs and studying his hands closely.  
  
"Dude? What's going on?" Joe asked, reaching out to touch the side of his knuckles with his fingertips. "You're being like... kind of weird..."  
  
Patrick gave a choked little laugh and shook his head. "It's nothing, it's just me being an idiot..."  
  
"What is?"  
  
"Nothing – I just... I kind of freaked out when you didn't come home. I'm so used to you being here and... y'know: you weren't. And you've been acting kind of strange, and stuff, and I thought that maybe you just... I mean, I know it's stupid, but I just thought for a second that maybe... because I mean, you hear stories, you know? About kids in college and stuff, that just like, end up getting totally weighed down under the work and stuff, and they just... can't take it. Y'know?"  
  
"Huh?" Joe blinked at him in confusion. " _Dude_. I'd – no way. I'd _never_..."  
  
"I know. I told you I was being dumb. It's just that you don't seem that great, lately, and I don't know what you need me to do to make it easier."  
  
Joe closed his eyes for a moment, wishing he'd just come home when he was supposed to. He couldn't just tell Patrick now, after worrying him sick and Patrick trying to be so caring and so loving, that they needed to call everything off. It wasn't fair; he just didn't have the heart to break it to him like that. Instead, he just wrapped his fingers around Patrick's and squeezed them tight.  
  
"I'm okay, dude. You don't need to do anything."  
  
"I wish I could help, somehow, y'know? You have so much on your plate, and everything..."  
  
Nodding, Joe took a sip of his drink and didn't push him away when he moved in his seat to pull him into a kiss. He knew he'd beat himself up about it, later, but it would have been meaner to refuse. And it wasn't as though Joe didn't still worship the ground Patrick walked on. When they went to bed, after, he told him he was tired – then spent the night gazing at the street lights and headlamps playing on the ceiling; doing his best to rationalise one way or another.  
  
He had to make a decision and follow it through, because this wasn't fair.  
  
\---  
  
Andy hadn't been around as much, lately – they'd played hardly any shows because Joe was so busy (which was already pissing off Pete and making him impatient – like they were losing momentum right when they needed to be pushing harder to promote the album) and Joe was really starting to feel his absence. He had no one to talk to. Luke was away at college and even when he'd finished he would probably spend the holidays with his parents at his grandparents' house over in Michigan. He couldn't go to his parents because they wouldn't understand and he could hardly tell Patrick. He tried writing it down; pages and pages of scribbled-out logic and apologies he was too much of a coward to make.  
  
Sometimes, he thought it might be easier if Patrick just found his notebook; figured it out for himself and then pulled away from Joe, instead of Joe having to push him. He never _intentionally_ left it lying around anywhere, but he started to be a little careless with it – hiding it down the side of the couch cushions when he went to work, or leaving his college bag open in the kitchen, knowing that the notebook was visible in the front pocket. What he hadn't considered was that the one person who wouldn't respect his privacy enough to leave it alone, was Pete.  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
Joe had barely had time to pull his key out of the lock in the front door before Pete was in front of him, brandishing the notebook Joe was fairly sure he'd stuffed in the kitchen drawer before he left for college that morning. His stomach dropped instantly.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Are you breaking up with Patrick?"  
  
"That's mine, Pete, give it back."  
  
"I know it's fucking yours, I read it!"  
  
Snatching it out of Pete's hand, Joe tried to push past him and get to his bedroom, where he could lock the door and freak out in private, but Pete blocked his way.  
  
" _Are you breaking up with him_?"  
  
"I don't know, okay? Seriously, just leave me alone."  
  
"Because I think maybe you should."  
  
Joe stopped trying to escape and looked him in the eye, trying to figure out if he was serious.  
  
"If you're thinking about it, do it. Don't string the kid along if it's not working. It's not fucking fair."  
  
"I _know_. It's just hard, Pete –"  
  
"Yeah, well it would have been harder if I wasn't the one who found this shit, kind of. Or was that the idea?"  
  
"No! I just... I'm only doing it for him, anyway."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"He's unhappy. With me."  
  
Pete's eyes narrowed speculatively as he asked, "Has he told you that?"  
  
"As good as..."  
  
Nodding slowly, Pete folded his arms across his chest and said, "Well. Yeah... yeah, I can kind of... I wasn't gonna say anything, but it's pretty obvious. He's been putting a brave face on it or whatever, but he's... yeah. He's pretty down."  
  
Hearing the truth from someone else and knowing that he was really making Patrick unhappy, hurt a lot more than he'd expected. After all, it was something he'd suspected, he should have been ready for the truth, but the reality of it also left him winded. "Did he like... did he say anything to you?"  
  
"I can't really break a confidence, man."  
  
"So, he has?"  
  
Pete shrugged and looked away.  
  
"I just..." Joe began, overcome with a need to explain himself, as if telling Pete and obtaining Pete's approval were somehow necessary, "I don't want to end up like that couple from the show and break up because he's started hating me for not being able to be with him more or not being a better boyfriend or something. I don't _want that_ , Pete, and I couldn't even like... deal with that. If we can just _be friends_ , then I think that I could maybe, like... maybe live with that, or something. At least kind of like... more than I can live with breaking up because he found someone better or because he just like, never gets to see me or something..."  
  
Pete nodded again and admitted, "I can pretty much understand that."  
  
"You can?"  
  
"I think it's basically the maturest decision you've ever made, kind of. But you need to do it soon if you're gonna fix anything, otherwise it's just gonna be too late or whatever."  
  
"Yeah... well I just wish it didn't feel so totally shitty..." Joe told him, sidling past and finally making it to his bedroom, where he shut the door and locked it firmly to make sure Pete couldn't follow. Patrick would be home soon and he wasn't ready. He couldn't just tell him tonight, not like this. He couldn't even open the door when Patrick knocked softly, letting him think he was asleep and retreat to his own bedroom alone.  
  
He left for college early the next day, knowing that they'd already agreed to meet for lunch days ago, because it was one of the rare occasions when they were both free for an hour. If he left first thing it meant he couldn't cancel, because Patrick didn't even have a cell phone he could call him on; he didn't deserve to be stood up again – this could be their last chance to have some quality time before it was over. He didn't want to miss that because he was too much of a selfish coward to let Patrick go.  
  
That afternoon he had been planning a nice, quiet walk through the enormous cemetery by his college; it seemed like an unusual place to spend time, but it was quiet and secluded and if they wanted to hold hands, few people would be around to see them. They'd spent a couple of afternoons there in the fall and it was a nice enough place to be if you could accept the fact that thousands of graves surrounded you.  
  
Patrick met him at the gate, looking a little pale and greeting him with much more hesitation than he usually would; his shoulders were stiff as Joe hugged him and he seemed to pull away a fraction of a second too early. He didn't even have to say anything for Joe to know that something was wrong, and they'd barely sat down on their favourite bench in a secluded corner when Patrick picked bleakly at the edge of his unopened sandwich carton and announced, "I need to ask you something."  
  
The only reason Joe had unwrapped his bagel was for something to focus on, rather than sitting in awkward silence; if he had a mouthful of lunch he had an excuse not to speak, but he wasn't really hungry at all. His appetite was gone. In fact, he hadn't really been able to stomach much at all in days. Carefully, he lowered his bagel back to the paper and picked absently at loose shreds of lettuce.  
  
"Okay..."  
  
Patrick didn't go any further, at first, he just flicked the folding edge of the polythene lid back and forth and sucked on his bottom lip pensively.  
  
Joe waited.  
  
"I just... Pete said I need to ask you about a notebook."  
  
"He did?"  
  
Nodding slowly, Patrick mumbled, "Yeah... that's what he said... he could just... I mean, he could just be fucking with me."  
  
"No," Joe admitted quietly. "No, there's a notebook, I just... I wasn't gonna like, say anything right now..."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"I _can't_ , Patrick. Not now – you have to go back to work, and I have to get to my afternoon shift an – "  
  
"Well, if you're afraid of making me feel shitty before we have to, y'know, go back, then I should probably tell you that _not_ telling me isn't working."  
  
Joe closed his eyes and sighed; this was the worst possible time to have this conversation, he wasn't even ready. Pete fucking _knew_ that! What right did he have to fuck things up by forcing him into a corner and making Patrick worry like this? "What did he tell you? Did he tell you what he read?"  
  
"No, just that he did, and that I had to ask..."  
  
"Yeah, well, Pete's a dick, basically."  
  
"Why, what did he read, Joe?"  
  
"It's not what he read that matters, dude, it's that he like... that he had to fuck with us when I just wanted to do it in my own way! It's none of his fucking business."  
  
He could hear the strain in Patrick's voice as he murmured, "Do what?" and he knew that Patrick had at figured it out. That deep down, he knew what was coming; had a pretty good idea of what was in the notebook.  
  
"I just didn't want to like... _hurt you_ any more than it was ever going to have to. I wanted to do it my way, not Pete's way, and it's totally fucking unfair because now –"  
  
"Just say it."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Just say you cheated on me, so I can forgive you and we can pretend this never – "  
  
"I didn't! I've never even looked at another dude that way!"  
  
"Then what's _going on_ , Joe? You've been avoiding me and pushing me away and I've really been trying to be patient, because I totally get that you have school and stuff to think about, but I seriously don't know what's going on anymore! Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me?"  
  
"No – dude, you've been amazing to me and that's like... that's why it's so hard."  
  
"That's why what's so hard?" Patrick asked helplessly, twisting to face him on the bench and trying to take his hand. "You have to tell me what's wrong, okay?"  
  
At first, Joe couldn't even speak or formulate the right words, he just gently pulled his hand free and threw his lunch into the trash can beside the bench. "You have to believe me when I tell you that I really, really love you and I totally don't want to do this... but I have to, because... because I don't want us to ever not be friends."  
  
He could see Patrick struggling to swallow as he said, "What?" and almost appeared to back off the smallest distance, like he was already slipping away.  
  
"Everything's just, like... falling apart, and it's all because of me, but I really love you and everything, and it's like... I wanted to tell you, but I didn't want to _do it_ and I can't like... keep acting like everything's okay, because it's not. It's really, really _not_. We've only been doing this for a couple of months and we're already fucking it up and it's only a matter of time before it ruins everything else... So we have to kind of stop. Now – before it makes us hate each other."  
  
The distraught look on Patrick's face as he asked, "You – you're breaking up with me?" felt like a sucker-punch to the gut.  
  
All Joe could do was nod and choke out, "I'm sorry."  
  
"But _why_? We were trying really hard!" Patrick almost cried, moving to put panic-stricken arms around him. "You can't just give up – things were getting better! I mean – _today_ we – "  
  
"It's already hard enough," Joe told him, trying to blink away the tears welling in his eyes from the cold breeze stinging at them and gently pulling himself free from Patrick's grasp, even though he really wanted nothing more than to bury his face in his shoulder and sob. "It won't last."  
  
"How can you say that? I fucking _love you_ , Joe, you can't just give up on us and decide that's it without even giving me a choice!"  
  
"I'm not giving up – we've fucking tried! And if I don't like, do it now, then it'll be too late..." Joe told him desperately, praying that he'd understand. He hadn't prepared a speech or figured out in his head what to say, he only had what he could articulate now, and hope that Patrick saw it the same way he did. He had to.  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"Everything! We can't do it – look at us, dude, it's been like, a few months and already we can't cope. You're getting bored of me, and I never get to see you and Pete's always there and it's just like... I don't want us to end up like that other band. I don't want you to hate me like they wound up hating each other, because I just... _I really love you_ and I would rather just be your friend and never –"  
  
"How can you think I would _hate you_? Joe, I'd never hate you, you dumbass, I love you to death! There's nothing you could ever do that would make me hate you!"  
  
"You don't know that..."  
  
"Yes, I do!"  
  
"No, you don't – because I bet those other people, I bet when they got engaged and like, started _living together_ they didn't think that they could hate each other – but look at what happened to them!"  
  
"But we're not them!"  
  
"No, but we can't even make time to hang out, anymore – "  
  
"Then I'll change my shifts. I'll cut my hours or get a job where I work less so that we can find some time or something, y'know? You don't have to leave me because of this..."  
  
"You _need_ those hours! And it's not even your job, it's mine! And it's college, and the band and I want to end this before it stops being a good memory for me. I want it to be what it _was_ – "  
  
"Well, you can't just do that!"  
  
"I have to."  
  
"You can't!" Patrick yelled back, getting to his feet and pulling off his woollen cap to hurl it at him furiously. "You – you can't just... _euthanize_ a relationship because you're scared, you fucking coward! You can't do that!"  
  
"Patrick – "  
  
"If you can do this now, then how do I know you ever meant any of it? Because if you did, you wouldn't do this – if you ever _really_ loved me – "  
  
"I _do_ love you – " Joe promised, standing and reaching out to him as he saw the first tear catch on his eyelashes for a second before it spilled down his face.  
  
"Don't lie to me!" Patrick shrugged out of his grip and roughly scrubbed away the tear with his sleeve. "Don't lie to me about this."  
  
It was as though someone was trying to force their fist between Joe's ribs and clamp down on his heart – his whole chest hurt and he couldn't catch his breath properly; it ached too much to try. "I'm not lying to you, Patrick, _please_ – listen to me, dude, I swear to you – "  
  
"If you weren't lying, then say you take it back," Patrick demanded, his voice tight and his chin quivering tellingly. "Because I don't want to 'be your friend' and pretend that's okay with me, because it's not. It's _not_. Just tell me you take it back and I'll believe you, Joe. That's all you have to do."  
  
Joe barely managed to shake his head as his eyes fluttered closed. The truth was, it probably wasn't enough for him, either, but this was the only way he could see that they would make it through with even the tiniest shred of what they had intact.  
  
He opened his eyes to the sound of footsteps on the snow and the sight of Patrick walking away, his shoulders hunched and head bowed, one hand raised to his mouth.  
  
"Patrick – "  
  
Patrick didn't even turn back long enough to yell, "Fuck you!" as he broke walked away, away from the job he was supposed to return to after lunch, and away from Joe.  
  
\---  
  
Going to work after that was physically painful; all afternoon, he had a hard knot in his stomach and a cloud of anxiety smothering him. What if Patrick wouldn't understand, and he lost his friendship anyway, after all this? What if he was wrong about it making things easier and Patrick never forgave him? He couldn't forget the look on Patrick's face when the words had started falling out of Joe's mouth. He was devastated – even for all his doubts, Joe could see how hard he'd taken it, and he should never had told him somewhere public, no matter how much he'd begged to know. There may not have been anyone in the immediate vicinity at the time, but Patrick still had to go back to work, or home, or get _somewhere_ , in that state. He'd barely been able to believe that Patrick had cried over it in the first place; but he'd wanted to himself, as he watched Patrick walk away and it dawned on him that after almost a year and a half together, he didn't have a boyfriend anymore.  
  
He kept to the store room as much as he could, that afternoon, trading jobs with his workmates to stay out of sight; the manager rarely lingered out the back, and he could stand against shelves and compose himself for a moment every time he reminded himself what had happened. He was just counting the minutes until he could get out of there, but at the same time, he didn't want to go home. He was afraid what Patrick would say when he saw him – if he was prepared to say anything at all.  
  
When he got there, he hesitated outside the front door for a couple of minutes, gathering his nerve and wondering whether he should just head straight into his room and spend the rest of the night there, by himself. As he pulled the key from the lock, though, the decision was already made for him. Patrick's bedroom door opened a couple of inches, and Joe could just see him behind it, his fingers grasping the edge tightly.  
  
"Can I talk to you?"  
  
Pulling off his gloves, Joe nodded. He could hardly tell him 'no' – he at least owed him a real explanation, and above anything, he _wanted_ to explain. The idea of trying to terrified him, but he wanted Patrick to understand.  
  
He turned to hang up his coat and when he turned back, the bedroom door was open and Patrick was waiting – dressed in ancient sweat pants and a worn, old t-shirt; his eyes were dry, but puffy and red, and his face was pale and blotchy. All Joe could do was gaze at him in dismay and hate himself for handling it so poorly; he'd known Patrick was upset, but he hadn't believed that he'd come home to find him looking like this.  
  
He opened his mouth to say something – apologise, as if it would make some kind of difference – but Patrick just wandered back into the bedroom, leaving his door ajar for Joe to follow.  
  
When he did, after a few seconds lingering where he was, steeling himself for an unavoidably painful conversation, Patrick was curled up at the head of his bed. His arms were wrapped around his shins, like he was trying to ball himself into the smallest space he could.  
  
"Are you okay?" Joe tried feebly, pushing the door closed behind himself. He didn't want Pete overhearing this.  
  
Sitting on the pillows, all Patrick did was choke out a disbelieving laugh and pointedly looked up at him through puffy eyes.  
  
"Yeah, um... Me either."  
  
"Why? I thought you wanted this."  
  
Joe sighed heavily and turned for the door; he couldn't face a fight.  
  
"Is that it? You're just gonna go?"  
  
"I'm just, like..." he rested his forehead against the doorframe, one hand grasping the handle, "really not up for a pissing contest. I kind of feel shitty enough already."  
  
Patrick snorted bitterly and raised his eyes to the ceiling with a difficult swallow. "I just want to know if there's someone else."  
  
" _No_ ," Joe told him immediately, turning to slump his shoulder against the door with another miserable sigh. "I told you that! When would I have time to see someone else? I don't even have the time to see you!"  
  
"Work? College?" Patrick sniffed, rubbing his nose with the inside of his wrist. "I don't know. You stayed out on Friday... you could have been anywhere."  
  
"I spent like an hour with everyone on my entire shift, telling them I didn't want to get wasted and then I went and sat in my car behind the marina _by myself_. Thinking about you."  
  
"Thinking about breaking up with me?"  
  
Joe couldn't even look at him as he nodded but when he raised his eyes, he honestly thought Patrick was going to burst into tears again; he looked so hurt at the admission that Joe wished he'd just denied it.  
  
"Mostly, I was like, thinking about reasons not to..."  
  
"But you still did."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"You came home and you told me we were okay, and all the time you knew you were going to do this?"  
  
"I kept putting it off because I didn't _want_ to do it."  
  
"If you don't want to, then why are you?"  
  
"Because if I don't, and we break up badly, then I'll pretty much like, lose you altogether..."  
  
"What, so this was your idea of a 'good break-up'?"  
  
"No! No, this is like, my worst case scenario, actually – you just not getting it and being mad at me for just like... trying to do the right thing. And it basically fucking sucks!"  
  
"What did you expect me to say, Joe? 'Oh, so you want to make the fact that I gave up college to stay with you completely meaningless and the whole of the last year and a half a total fucking waste of our time? Okay. No problem!'" Patrick yelled, and there was little chance that if Pete was in he hadn't heard what was being said. "I mean, it's not like I _love you_ or anything, right? It's not like I thought we agreed that, y'know: we had an actual future together or anything!"  
  
"We're _eighteen_ ," Joe reminded him miserably, barely managing a half-shrug. "You'll be over me in like, two months or something."  
  
When Patrick choked out, "I won't," and ducked his head to hide the tears that had started sliding down his face again, Joe gave in to himself almost instantly and sank onto the floor beside the bed, trying to take his hand.  
  
"Don't cry, dude, please... _Please_ , don't cry. I'm doing it because I love you," Joe insisted, almost begging him to understand. "You _have to believe me_. If we break up now, then almost all the time we've been together has been awesome. We can just like, look back at it and feel good about it. But if we keep on like this, then we'll never be able to hold it together long enough for the things that are making it suck to go away, and then everything'll be ruined. If we're going to ever break up, I want us to be able to be super close friends, after, not like, total enemies or something."  
  
"We'd _never_ get like that," Patrick told him adamantly, glaring at the hand stroking at his, but not pulling away. "I'd never hate you, no matter what you did or how hard things were."  
  
"Do you seriously wanna risk it? Because I want to know you liked me as much when we broke up as you did when we were super happy. Like last year. Last year was the coolest time of my life – after your mom stopped thinking I was a little jerk who was corrupting her baby, and we really started like, _doing stuff_... Things aren't even as good now as they were then... but I really thought that doing this moving-in-thing would make it easier to be together, instead of like, going away to college or whatever."  
  
"Won't you even try?"  
  
"I've _tried_ – that's pretty much like, all we've both been doing since I started working."  
  
"Well... what if we don't break up? What if we just y'know... take a break or something? Maybe if the album does okay, and that other guy wants to work with us, your mom and dad will let you quit college, and then we'll have time, won't we?"  
  
"We don't know how long it's gonna take, though... it could be a couple of months or it could be _years_..."  
  
"I don't care. I'll wait. You can break up with me if that's what you want, but I'll just wait until you snap out of it and then take you back."  
  
"I don't want you to wait for me, Patrick! You'll hate me just the same for like, stopping you being happy..."  
  
"I _told you_ – I'll never – "  
  
"You know what I mean!"  
  
"But I don't know what I'll do if I haven't got you... You're like... you're in every part of my life..."  
  
"I'll still be here. We'll still be best friends! That's what I want, dude! I want us to still be like, insanely close but just stop the thing that'll make us not be, if we fuck it up. And I'm not saying we can't ever get back together, if you still like me then – like, when things are easier – "  
  
"I will. I swear, I will, Joe. I'll never even look at anyone else."  
  
"Me too, most probably... but we can't know that so I don't want to risk it. I want to like, save what we've got before we ruin it totally. You understand that, right? You have to..."  
  
Patrick nodded jerkily, wiping his face with the bottom of his t-shirt. "It just really, really hurts."  
  
Sighing heavily, Joe got up off the floor and climbed onto the bed beside him, pulling him into a hug, relieved when he felt Patrick's arms wrapping around him tightly. He'd been so scared that he'd ruined everything forever.  
  
"In six months, if we both like, feel like this, still, we can try again. Okay?"  
  
"Three months?" Patrick suggested hopefully, daring to press a light kiss to Joe's shoulder.  
  
"Three months is kind of... What about like, your birthday? If we haven't like, figured it out by your birthday, we'll make a point of kind of like, doing it then."  
  
"That's almost five months..."  
  
"I don't know if anything less is really gonna like, let us work it out with a clear head, you know? I'm gonna still miss you in three months, whatever happens..."  
  
"I guess getting back together would be the best birthday present you could give me..."  
  
Joe didn't have the heart to tell him that there was no guarantee they would get back together – then or ever – so he just buried his face in Patrick's hair and tried to get used to the idea of it being the last time.  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Brand New's 'Okay, I Believe You But My Tommy Gun Don't' and quote from Foo Fighters' 'Everlong'.


	18. A Lie We Can Both Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe saw him first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter of TWNW that has been posted since 2009 and is dedicated to Lewis & Soren, without whose influence it would not exist. Sorry about the wait.

**The World’s Not Waiting (For Joe Trohman To Stop Being A Pussy And Start Going For What He Wants) [18/?]  
** _Part Eighteen: A Lie We Can Both Keep_

_"I know my place, it's nowhere you should roam."_  
  
It was Pete’s voice in the hall outside that woke Joe from his fitful sleep the next morning. It took him a second to look at the empty mattress beside him and catch his breath, remembering. His eyes felt salty and sore and his forehead and sinuses throbbed miserably. He could really use a glass of water, but he didn’t want to get up or see anyone, or talk, or anything. He just wanted to go back to sleep and make it all go away again.  
  
When he’d left Patrick’s room, the night before, he thought they’d been on the same page, more or less, although Patrick still insisted it wasn’t necessary and they’d be alright and they could do this. They’d allowed themselves a final, parting kiss, too, small and regretful. Nowhere near enough for the weight of the sadness and finality it held. But laying in his cold, empty bed alone, afterward, all Joe could think about was Patrick’s face as he stood in the cemetery, begging to be told that Joe had cheated so he could forgive him and they could forget about it. He felt so utterly shitty that Patrick would have done that - accepted something that to Joe was unforgivable, and lived with it just to keep a hold of him. Forgiven him anything. Joe knew he wasn't worth that kind of devotion, he was just a fuck up who couldn't cope with anything and let him down at the first major test of their relationship.  
  
He'd expected it to be a relief to get it off his chest, but all it had done was make his chest ache. Now that he'd had time for the reality of the situation to sink in, he was overwhelmed by the sense of loss it brought with it.  
  
He knew the gentle click was Patrick’s bedroom door before he even heard the soft pad of socked feet walking down the hall. His stomach lurched, aching to rush out and see him, to check that he was okay and that overnight he hadn’t talked himself into hating Joe for ruining everything, but he just couldn't.  
  
He could hear the low mumble of Patrick’s response to Pete, but not clearly enough to make out what was said. The voices faded a little, heading into the kitchen, and Joe almost regretted not being able to hear what they were saying about him. He knew how Pete felt, though. Pete thought this band was his chance at something halfway mainstream and he wasn’t going to let Joe’s stupid, teenage feelings interfere with his success. He was probably glad, because it meant there was no one to share Patrick’s attention with, anymore. After all, it was Pete who’d forced his hand and Pete who’d told Patrick they needed to talk, so that he couldn’t wait or have second thoughts or cushion it the way he’d wanted to.  
  
Honestly, if he hadn’t felt so hollow he would have been mad.  
  
The digital clock on the dresser said it was just after eleven. He was supposed to start a shift at one, but he couldn’t face it. There would only be questions about why he looked like shit and he didn’t know how to explain the end of something that none of his colleagues even knew about. He didn’t have the patience to smile and answer the questions from demanding parents and their shrieking brats.  
  
For a long time, he laid there, waiting for them both to go back to their rooms so he could get himself some water and make the call. When he finally heard the padding of feet on wood, he hauled himself out from under the covers. He’d barely turned on the faucet to fill the glass, when he heard Patrick’s voice again.  
  
"Hey." It was soft, unsure. It took him a moment to gather himself and glance back at him over his shoulder to respond.  
  
"Hi."  
  
They hovered there together, both waiting for the other to say something.  
  
"How - um… how are you doing?" Patrick tried, pushing his hair out of his face self-consciously.  
  
Joe sighed; a small, morose sound almost drowned out by the Foo Fighters on Patrick’s stereo, drifting through the hall from his open door. "I’ve, like… been better, honestly."  
  
Jerkily, Patrick nodded. "Yeah." His bottom lip looked raw, as though it had been chewed compulsively, and his eyes were dull. The longer Joe looked down at him, the more the obvious it became that he hadn’t slept. It didn’t make him feel any better about things.  
  
"Don't you have work?"  
  
Joe nodded behind his glass. "Not going, though."  
  
"Oh. I called out, too."  
  
For a minute there was silence, awkward and heavy. It was a relief when Patrick finally spoke. "So, I guess we both have some time free. That’s kind of ironic."  
  
"I guess so," Joe snorted dismally.  
  
"Maybe we could, y’know… watch a film or something." When Joe didn’t immediately agree, Patrick’s voice took on an edge of desperation. "I mean, the whole point was that we were still gonna be friends, right? Wasn’t it?"  
  
"Yeah, of course…"  
  
Neither of them had approached each other at all, standing almost as far apart as they could get, in the small space. Joe was afraid that if he got any closer, he’d do something that wasn’t allowed, anymore. He didn’t want to send mixed messages - it would only hurt more, if he did.  
  
As if to add insult to injury, the stereo in Patrick’s room began to play the distorted opening notes to an all-too-familiar song.  
  
_Hello - I've waited here for you..._  
  
Patrick’s eyes flicked away and then back, as if wondering if Joe had noticed. _Of course I noticed, it's our fucking song._  
  
"I should…" he gestured towards the hall, presumably to his room, "turn that off or something…"  
  
He made to leave, but something in Joe blurted out, "Wait! You like… don’t have to. It’s still kind of… it still means a lot. To me, anyway." When Patrick didn’t reappear from behind the kitchen door, Joe followed him down the hall. "Patrick?"  
  
He found him standing beside the dresser, his fingers resting on the buttons of the CD player, gazing down at them, distantly. Joe waited on the threshold, somehow feeling that he couldn’t enter uninvited, anymore.  
  
"You don’t need to turn it off, dude," he said again. "It’s still, like… it’s still our song."  
  
"You know what I think about when I hear this?" Patrick asked, and it seemed like a rhetorical question, but he didn’t continue.  
  
"I know what I think about…" _Borrowing your Green Day shirt and being the happiest I’d ever been._  
  
"I think about one night, when we we’d just played that show in Sauget, and we were heading home. Pete was sleeping in the back with Chris, because they were on second shift, and Andy was driving. I was sitting in the middle seat and you were asleep on my shoulder - and this song came on the radio, y’know? And Andy says, ‘Hey, it’s your favourite song!’ ‘cause I used to play it all the time, and I kind of knew he knew, but… I just sort of told him everything, about why it meant so much. And when I was halfway through, he just cuts me off, and says, ‘Hey, man, I know this. He doesn’t talk about anything except you.’ And that’s when I really thought, y’know, _Wow, he really does love me_."  
  
Joe didn’t really know what to say. He watched the lump bob in Patrick’s throat as he swallowed, wished he could reach out and draw him into a comforting hug. But he couldn’t, and it felt like it’d be a really long time until he could again, without it hurting them both. In the end, he found himself murmuring, "I still do, Patrick."  
  
"And the thing is, I believe you, but it still hurts like you don’t." Suddenly, Patrick reached out and picked up the wallet from the shelf beside the door. He unzipped the compartment at the back and pulled out the gold chain he’d stashed there, holding out his hand to Joe for him to take it. "I should return this."  
  
"What? No -"  
  
"It's an heirloom, you should give it back to your grandparents."  
  
"They gave it to you - and, like… we said we'd see how everything is after your birthday, or whatever… Please, dude, don't give it back. If you do, it feels like… I mean, it feels like we're really done, basically."  
  
"I thought that's how you wanted it."  
  
"None of this was ever what I wanted."  
  
"You keep saying that, but I don't want it, either, so who are we doing this for?"  
  
Joe sighed. "I have to call work."  
  
\---  
  
Despite their promise to watch a film together, later, Joe hid in his room for three hours, afterward, curled under his comforter. He heard Pete leave around two, after another short, muffled conversation with Patrick, and then the apartment fell silent. There wasn't even any music from Patrick's room, which was usually a constant, if he was in there. Not that he'd spent much time in there, until recently - until Joe no longer had time for him.  
  
The gentle raps at his door took him by surprise. He'd been too caught up in self-pity to even hear Patrick approach.  
  
"Come in."  
  
Carefully, clutching the wooden edge tightly, Patrick peered in. "Do you mind…?"  
  
"No," Joe replied, scrambling to sit up, drawing his knees to his chest under the covers. "What's up?"  
  
Patrick walked around to his side of the bed - what used to be his side of the bed - and perched on the edge. "Look. I'm not _trying_ to be mean, I just… I wish things were different, y'know? I spent the whole of last night lying in my room, thinking how much everything's gonna suck, now. The idea of not being with you, is so… I don't know what I'm gonna do, y'know? In this whole context, it's like, I started crushing on you when I was sixteen and I'm nineteen in a few months… It's been all this time and what do I do, now? Who do I talk to when everything sucks and it's because you broke up with me? And don't say 'Pete', because I swear to God, he's already had too much involvement in this." He paused, looking around the room sadly. "You're my best friend, y'know? Simon's gone and I don't really hear from Leon…"  
  
"I'll still be your best friend," Joe offered, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. "That was, like… my whole plan, dude."  
  
"Yeah, and we'll be friends if it kills me, but I just… How can I talk to you about missing stuff - _us stuff_ , y'know? - without feeling like I'm trying to make you feel bad? Or without making things weird? How do I sleep next to you in the back of the van and...? What do I tell my _mom_? I had these bigshot ideas about how we were totally gonna make it and be with each other forever or something, and I swore to her that I knew better, and now… She's going to think she was right about you and about it being a phase, and it's not true. _It's not._ "  
  
The utter despair and futility in Patrick's voice was devastating. All Joe could manage was a feeble, choked, "I don't know."  
  
They sat there together in silence for a minute or two, Patrick picking at the bobbles on the seams of his tatty track pants and Joe gazing at the folds in the covers stretched between his knees.  
  
"I don't know what to tell my mom and dad, either," Joe admitted, finally. "I know you think I did, but I didn't, like… _plan_ this, dude. I wasn't, sort of, scheming behind your back or something. I was thinking about how we were kind of like, better off as friends maybe, because I can't be the boyfriend you want right now, but I wasn't ready to say anything, and I just wanted to like, get my head clear. I was thinking that maybe I should have like, waited until after Christmas, or something, but I didn't want to -"  
  
" _'The boyfriend I want'_?"  
  
Joe blinked at the appalled look on Patrick's face. "Um…"  
  
"You _are_ the boyfriend _I want_ , you fucking dumbass!"  
  
"No, but, I mean - I couldn't be there for you, in like, the way you wanted…" he tried, holding out an open hand to pull Patrick's attention back to himself when he looked for a moment like he was about to get up and storm out. "The way I wanted to be, I mean. It's always, like, _my_ job and _my_ school stuff coming between us - "  
  
"So you ditched _me_."  
  
"I didn't ditch you, dude, I tried to like, let you go, so you could be happy. So you'd never get so sick of me you didn't want to be around me, anymore."  
  
"I _was_ happy."  
  
"That's not what you said."  
  
"I mean, things _have_ been hard and - and, yeah, I would like to see you more, but something's better than nothing, y'know? I'd rather that than this! You've basically just quit on me and I didn't get any say at all."  
  
Wearily, Joe rubbed his eye with the back of his wrist. "And you make it sound like I just did it, like, on a whim, and that I wasn't worrying and feeling shitty about it with no one to talk to, or whatever..." Defensively, the truth - something deeper even than he'd realised - began tumbling from his mouth. "Maybe it wasn't just for you, dude. Maybe it was for me, too. Maybe I just, like… can't cope with feeling shitty because I'm failing at everything in my life and making the person I kind of love more than anything feel shitty, too. I'm really sorry that I can't, like, keep up with everything, but I don't know what else to do. You and this band are everything I was building my future on, basically. Even my parents trusted me to make a half-decent shot of it, but I'm fucking it up and I need room to breathe or something, or I'm going to fucking _crack up_ …"  
  
When he looked up at him again, Patrick's eyes were closed tight, his head dipped and fingers clenched in the duvet cover.  
  
"That doesn't mean I wanted this, Patrick… but just... maybe I kind of need it…"  
  
"Why didn't you say anything?" Patrick asked helplessly, still not looking at him. "I asked you so many times… Maybe if we'd talked or something..."  
  
"I don't know. I guess I just didn't kind of know where my head was at or anything. It's not like I even dated anyone before you... And I mean, like, I only just turned eighteen, dude. I've never had to deal with anything like this before and… I hate that Pete was right, and your mom was right, and I suck at basically everything and all I've done is just kind of like, _prove_ that… And then, like, we talk about 'Oh, we'll work things out in a few months,' and that means I have to try to be better at everything by then, and it's kind of a lot of pressure right now..."  
  
Sadly, Patrick crawled over the mattress and tucked himself under the covers, resting his head on Joe's shoulder. Joe closed his eyes and propped his cheek on the top of Patrick's head, breathing him in.  
  
"I love you, dude," he mumbled into his hair. "And I'm really fucking sorry."  
  
"I know," Patrick nodded, lifting his head and gently bumping his forehead to the bridge of Joe's nose. "I love you, too. And for what it's worth, I get it, y'know? And I really, really wish you'd let me be there for you… I don't want you to feel like you have to do something you're not ready to do, but I'll wait. However long it takes, I'll wait."  
  
\---  
  
Later, when Joe finally mustered the courage to leave his room and knock on Patrick's door to ask about that movie they were going to watch, something seemed to have changed. For starters, Patrick had taken a shower and got dressed. He even smiled when he opened the door, like he had resolved to make the best of the situation, no matter how much he hated it right now.  
  
By contrast, Joe felt pretty scummy. He hadn't even changed out of his pyjamas, which he knew must seem kind of weird for someone who sometimes took three showers a day, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Not really. Not enough to do anything about it, anyway.  
  
"Do you still, like… wanna hang out?" he asked, feeling like that awkward kid in the bookstore again, hoping against hope that Patrick would agree, just so he could spend some time with him.  
  
"Totally." Patrick's smile became just that little bit more natural, a little bit broader. "What did you want to watch?"  
  
They settled for Back to the Future, sitting close enough on the couch that Joe could feel the warmth radiating from the body beside him, but not close enough to touch. It was kind of awkward, because he had to clench his fists together between his folded legs to fight the habit of laying them on Patrick's, instead. He couldn't act natural, because this didn't feel natural. Patrick was sitting right there, and yet he felt bereft.  
  
By the time Pete got home, stopping in the doorway to the living room and watching silently, Joe had managed to relax enough to unfold his legs and release his hands, but not enough to feel comfortable under his scrutiny. He hadn't even seen Pete since the day before, and he remembered with a sudden flush of anger that the main reason he was sitting around in his pyjamas, trying his hardest not to accidentally take Patrick's hand, was that Pete had interfered.  
  
"So, you guys are hanging out, huh?"  
  
Beside him, Patrick gave a brave smile and nodded. Joe just grunted and turned his eyes back to the TV. _No thanks to you, asshole_.  
  
"That's like, good, I guess."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Because, I mean, we're playing the Christmas Eve show next week, or whatever. We need to work our shit out because that dude from that noodle label is going to be there." Pete wandered off to dump his things in his room, and Patrick climbed off the sofa to follow, briefly resting his hand on Joe's shoulder as he left.  
  
_Well, I guess that's one thing that like, never fucking changed..._  
  
\---  
  
The next few days were grim and awkward. Joe returned to work and classes and every morning it seemed a little harder to get out of bed, and he felt a little less concerned about finishing his assignments or doing a decent job of stacking shelves. Every night, when he got home, Patrick smiled at him hopefully, like he thought today would be the day that Joe realised his terrible mistake and begged to be his boyfriend again. He made little efforts, like inviting him to split a pizza - his treat, even though Joe knew his job barely brought in enough to cover rent and utilities - or bringing him home an Interpol t-shirt and signed copy of 'Obstacle 1' from work. Joe had accepted the t-shirt and CD, because he didn't want to be ungrateful, but turned down the pizza, telling him he wasn't feeling good. He spent the night staring at his bedroom ceiling and listening to 'I Started Something I Couldn't Finish' on repeat until he fell asleep in his clothes.  
  
A week before Christmas, Patrick walked in from work and immediately knocked on his bedroom door, not even stopping to take off his coat. Joe was sitting at his computer, finishing up his - _thank God_ \- last assignment before the semester ended, and he could tell even from there that Patrick was stressed about something. Things weren't exactly casual between them, yet, but they'd improved from their first, rigid attempts to hang out as friends. Joe no longer had to sit on his hands, at least.  
  
"Do you have a minute? Or, like, ten possibly?"  
  
"Sure," Joe agreed, quickly, getting up to pull him into the room by his sleeve and shut the door behind him. His glasses were steamed up from coming in from the cold and his face was flushed pink, but he didn't know if that was also weather related or if he was just flustered. "What's up?"  
  
"This is going to be like, seriously awkward, and I totally get it if you say 'no', okay? But… I still haven't told my mom about us, y'know - " his voice faltered slightly, "break… breaking up, or whatever. Maybe I should've told her right away or something, I don't know… I just wasn't ready, I guess."  
  
"That's like… I mean, I haven't either, dude. I've just been avoiding talking to them, basically."  
  
" _Right_ \- and see, that's fine because your folks are cool and everything, but…" he took a deep breath and tugged off his woollen cap to bunch in his hands, self-consciously. "Here's the thing: my mom still assumes we're together and she thinks you're coming to Christmas, and I don't know what to say, y'know? So… this is going to sound so lame… but, would you - and like I said, if you don't want to, it's cool, but I wanted to ask before I just assumed you wouldn't - but… is there any way you'd come to my mom's for Christmas? Please?"  
  
Joe's first instinct was to blurt out, _Yes, totally! Anything you want_. But he bit it back and took a deep breath, instead. "Um…" How did he answer that, even?  
  
"Look, if you don't want to, it's cool, I swear, I just… I'm just… I'm not ready to tell her and I don't know what reason I can give for you not being there, y'know? I mean, who has plans on Christmas when they don't do Christmas? Where else would you need to be - ?"  
  
"Dude… it's not that I don't want to…"  
  
"No, it's fine, I understand. I'll… I'll work something out, I guess. Thanks anyway…" He hurriedly turned for the door, his cheeks crimson, but Joe caught his arm to stop him.  
  
"I didn't say no."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"But, like… are you sure you wanna do that? It's pretty much flat out lying, basically."  
  
Patrick sighed miserably and scratched at the back of his hair. "I know… and I feel bad about that, but… if there's y'know, _any chance_ , we might work things out someday, then I don't want to tell her if I don't need to. I mean, you know what things are like with mom, and I just… I want to keep my pride or something, man."  
  
"I get it, and everything, and like… I'll do it, dude, but I feel kind of weird about it, honestly. What are we gonna do, literally pretend to be dating all day?"  
  
"Well, I guess - not that we need to make out in front of my mom or anything - but you don't have to do it - "  
  
"No, I will, but you have to like, help out with my parents, too. Aside from kind of not wanting to tell her how shitty everything is, right now, my mom loves you, dude. She'd be totally like, heartbroken, if she found out we broke up."  
  
"Yeah, well…" Patrick mumbled, looking away, "that makes two of us."  
  
"Three," Joe corrected, pushing him in the shoulder with his fingertips and giving him a sad smile. "You suck at math."  
  
\---  
  
When Joe got home from work on Christmas eve, his bedroom door was open and Andy was sitting in his desk chair, waiting. It was after six and Joe had tried to get out early but the rush of idiot parents scrambling to find the exact toy their kid wanted with less than twenty-four hours to spare, had meant that they were all run off their feet the entire day.  
  
"What're you doing, here?" Joe asked him warily, sitting down on the end of the bed to unlace his boots. He still had to have a shower and get changed, then they had to get to the venue and soundcheck and the first band was supposed to be on at seven thirty. "Not that I'm not happy to see you for the first time in like, forever, but…"  
  
Before saying anything, Andy got up and pushed the bedroom door closed, locking it firmly.  
  
“What’s going on? I heard about you and Patrick and I was kind of… shocked, I guess.”  
  
Joe just shrugged.  
  
“Listen, you don’t have to tell me, but if you need to talk, I’m totally here. To be honest, I’m kind of a little hurt you didn’t come to me before. I didn’t even know there was anything wrong.”  
  
“You weren’t around.”  
  
“I was at the end of a phone line, wasn’t I? You can drive - you could have come up and hung out.”  
  
“I guess.”  
  
“So, I mean - are you doing okay? Do you need anything?”  
  
“Just, like, a whole extra life to do everything in,” Joe muttered. "It's kind of complicated, dude."  
  
“I just thought you and Patrick had a pretty good thing,” Andy told him, and he seemed genuinely disappointed.  
  
“We used to.”  
  
"So what happened?"  
  
"I thought you like, _knew_ already…"  
  
"I know Patrick's side of things."  
  
"Well, he was there, so…"  
  
Andy frowned, looking a little hurt. "You used to tell me everything. What's changed?"  
  
"Nothing, dude! I just… I don't… What did Patrick even say?"  
  
"That he's worried about you. He definitely isn't okay with you guys breaking up, and he thinks somehow it's his fault for telling you he was disappointed you don't get to hang out as much right now."  
  
"I didn't say it's his _fault_!"  
  
"Well, it's the message he got."  
  
"Dude, it's not like that at all… I just, like… I could see everything going wrong and I didn't want it to get worse. I don't want us not working out to ruin the band…"  
  
"Fuck the band! Don't choose a band over being happy, Joe - the closest we get to success might be making a buck on shirts when we play hovels in Nowheresville, Iowa."  
  
"But we've got the deal with Sean for the album and -"  
  
"Do you have any idea how many bands who get signed end up making any money out of it? It's like three fucking percent! Sean owns a shitty indie label, it's not fucking EMI!"  
  
_And you couldn't have like, mentioned this before, dude?_ "It's not just about the band, though… It's school, and working, and we never get any time to hang out on our own -"  
  
"Did Pete have anything to do with this?"  
  
"What, like, aside from basically forcing me to do it?"  
  
Andy's voice took on a steely edge. "What do you mean, 'forcing you'?"  
  
"He found some of my stuff - not like a diary or anything, dude, but… some stuff I was writing for myself to kind of like, help figure things out… and he asked me about it and I told him I was feeling shitty and trying to work out what to do, and then he basically told Patrick to ask me about it. Which he obviously did. I didn't exactly get a choice."  
  
Andy's eyes narrowed. "I'm going to fucking end him."  
  
"No, dude… It's not… I mean, he was right that I had to stop kind of procrastinating or whatever. I just wish it hadn't worked out exactly the way it did, basically," Joe admitted. "I think me and Patrick are kind of doing okay, right now. Okay enough for me to be going to his mom's for Christmas, tomorrow." Actually, they'd self-consciously agreed that they'd stay over after the show that night, because they were adults and they could totally share a bed as friends, if it meant keeping their ruse going. Besides, the venue was like a fifteen minute drive from Patrick's mom's house, and she'd already made assumptions.  
  
"So, what - are you thinking about getting back together?"  
  
"No… we're just not telling our folks. It's kind of embarrassing that it didn't work out after everything, especially for Patrick, so…"  
  
There was something about the way Andy looked at him which made him question everything he'd just said. Maybe it was ridiculous. Maybe this was just asking for trouble and hurt and the mixed messages he'd been trying so hard to avoid. _Fuck._ But it was too late to back out, now. Patrick would never forgive him and he still kind of hoped that in time maybe they would work it all out and get things back on track, one day, but there was no way that would happen if he fucked up something like this.  
  
Later, at the venue, he was sure he heard Andy calling Pete a 'fucking asshole' - and not in the usual, amicable way he'd always heard before. Pete just shrugged and looked over to where Patrick was standing, alone, in the middle of the dancefloor.  
  
\---  
  
As Joe set himself up for soundcheck, he found himself thinking about the shitty little venue they were playing, and how so many of their milestones had happened there. The first time he asked Patrick out, although it hadn't been a date at the time, and where Patrick had confessed his feelings on the day he got back from the Arma tour. Pete had even found out about them in the admin corridor here. One time, during their experimental phase, they'd come to see Andy play with one of his other bands and broken into the room where the lighting and PA equipment was kept and almost got carried away. It made him kind of sad. Back then, he thought that someone finding out he and Patrick were an item was the worst thing that could happen. Now, it was their parents figuring out that they weren't.  
  
"Hey, check this out!" Patrick beamed, appearing beside him on the stage. He was brandishing a piece of bright green card, with a hand-drawn caricature of the four of them stuck on the front, each wearing a Santa hat and holding a gift. "Some girls outside just gave me it."  
  
"Really?" Joe took it from his fingers and opened it up.  
  
_To Pete, Patrick, Andy and Joe  
  
Happy Christmas / Hanukkah!  
  
Thank you for saving the Chicago scene.  
  
From your biggest fans  
Becca and Janine_  
  
He snorted. The caricature on the front looked almost nothing like him, or any of them, really. There was also a heart above the 'i' in Patrick, which immediately made him dislike whoever wrote it. He held it back out for Patrick to take without saying anything.  
  
"Well, I think it's cool," Patrick told him indignantly. "This is the first thing anyone ever gave me because they liked my music. My first thing from an actual fan."  
  
_The only thing they're fans of is your dick._ "Merry Christmas."  
  
Patrick cast him a wounded look and wandered off, mumbling about showing Pete and Andy.  
  
_What does 'saving the scene' even fucking mean? That sounds fucking dumb. Maybe they could save it by fucking the fuck off or something._  
  
When they played Growing Up, a couple of hours later, Pete dedicated it to the girls who made the card and a pair of them down the front flailed a little and waved back at him. That must have been them. He wondered who had written the message inside and concluded that it was probably the prettier one, who kept making eyes at Patrick. _Don't you fucking dare._  
  
He was even more irritated when the same girls came over to them again after the show, while they were trying to load up the van. They weren't the only ones, a few others were lingering around, asking for their copies of the EP to be signed. Joe didn't even have an autograph he liked, yet, so he just wrote his name and made it a smiley face and deliberately did an angry face when he got hold of the girl's. He put his name as close to Patrick's on the cover as he could, then drew a crooked heart between them.  
  
The girl giggled. When Pete took the CD, he looked at Joe's handiwork and then smirked at him.  
  
"You think he's joking, but…"  
  
"Fuck off, Pete."  
  
The girl just laughed some more, completely oblivious to the secret she'd been handed. Not that it entirely applied, right now, but Joe still didn't want it to be common knowledge. Especially not in this stupid scene they were supposed to be saving. He'd learned that lesson far too well over the summer.  
  
A couple of metres away, Patrick looked up at them curiously, trying to hand back someone's Sharpie without any idea who it belonged to. He passed it to the person nearest to him and walked over to peer over Pete's shoulder at the CD. For a moment, he frowned, then looked up and caught Joe's eye uncomfortably, as Pete drew a thick zigzag through the little heart, rendering it broken. When he glanced back down and saw what Pete had done, Patrick huffed, " _Dick_!" at him, and walked off.  
  
Pete smirked and touched his fingers to his lips in mock-horror. "Oops. Think I lit the fuse on the firecracker."  
  
Joe thought about going after him, but he wasn't sure that he was the person Patrick really wanted to see, right now. Not after Pete's little stunt. So, he tugged up the hood of his parka and stuffed his hands in the pockets, walking down to the street to wait for everything to wrap up, hoping no one else asked him to scribble on their stuff.  
  
He didn't see Patrick again until he climbed into Andy's van with his rucksack, clambering over kit to sit opposite Joe on the floor.  
  
"So, have you got a new girlfriend, or what?" Pete teased, tilting his head back as far as he could, to look at them upside down. "That girl was hoooooot for you, little dude."  
  
"Don't be ridiculous."  
  
"Are you like, _insane_? She wanted the D so bad! ' _Oh, Patrick - you're so funny, Patrick - here's a picture I drew of you, Patrick…_ ' Joe could see it - he's jealous as fuck! Wonder if she'd still think you're as adorable if she knew you take it in the butt."  
  
"Shut the fuck up, Pete," Joe muttered, very aware that Patrick was looking at him and too embarrassed to meet his eye.  
  
"Well, he's a free agent, right? He can try the lady lovin' now, if he wants."  
  
"I don't fucking 'want', okay, Pete? Fucking leave it alone."  
  
"You two are so fucking touchy…" Pete sulked. "Maybe you _both_ need to get laid."  
  
Andy did not sound amused as he ground out, "Pete, if you don't shut your fucking mouth…"  
  
"FINE, make it a fucking threesome, you humourless nerds."  
  
"What Joe and I do or don't do is _still_ none of anybody's fucking business."  
  
"Really? 'Cause it used feel a lot like mine, given that I've got the room next to his, kind of."  
  
"You're so gross…" Andy complained.  
  
"Fucking 'gross'? Try sharing an apartment with them, or whatever! I hope his mom wears earplugs."  
  
Finally losing his patience, Joe half-shouted, "Dude, we fucking broke up like you wanted, will you just like, _drop it_ , now?" He didn't yell often, not because he was mad, and the fact that he'd raised his voice seemed to have stunned everyone.  
  
The van fell silent. Even Pete straightened up in his seat and didn't say anything more. On the floor, in the back, Joe's eyes met Patrick's, flickering yellow under the passing streetlights. They stared at each other without saying anything, until Andy pulled up outside Patrick's mom's.  
  
\---  
  
Patrick's mom, Kevin and Amelia were all still up when they arrived at the house. They'd been waiting, it seemed, and Joe greeted Patricia and Amelia with a kiss on the cheek and Kevin with a handshake, trying to act as natural as possible, and felt sure it made it more awkward. She offered them snacks and even a Christmas nightcap, though she knew neither of them drank, as if she was trying to treat them as proper adults now. He was grateful that Patrick told them that they were exhausted and wanted to take a post-show shower and head straight to bed, so he didn't have to run the gauntlet of small talk just yet. He was so sure he was going to let something slip.  
  
Lit only by a desk lamp, Patrick's old room looked uncomfortably barren with all his things gone. It still had the twin bed, but his collectables - some of which were still in a box in Joe's parents' basement, where he'd put them after his covert rescue operation - were long gone, along with his record collection and books. The walls were clear of posters and the shelves had been partly filled with trinkets from around the house. It was weird. Joe's own room back home still had at least a third of his stuff left in it.  
  
"This is kind of odd…" Joe said, taking off his sneakers.  
  
"I know," Patrick replied quietly. "I'm sorry that Pete was a dick about stuff on the one night when we really needed to not be uncomfortable about it…"  
  
"Actually, I just meant your room being empty, but like… that too."  
  
"If you want, I can sneak down and sleep in the basement or something, y'know? If it feels weird…"  
  
Joe looked at the lost expression on Patrick's face and the sad slope of his shoulders, "I don't want you to sleep in the basement, dude."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"I thought we were like, gonna try adulting this one out…"  
  
"We were, but then tonight happened and…"  
  
"And what?"  
  
For a moment Patrick didn't respond, then he sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. "I just… really fucking miss you. I told myself I wasn't going to make it an issue, y'know, but this is the first show since everything and I didn't realise how much time I spend riffing off you, until then, and that kind of bummed me out… then Pete drew that heart to make fun of us and - "  
  
"I drew the heart."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
" _I_ drew the heart. It was me, dude. I wasn't making fun of anything, I was just like, I dunno… being petty or something, basically. I mean, it's none of my fucking business who you date, now, is it? And that's totally my fault, but like… I guess I kind of wanted that girl to back off." He shrugged. "And then Pete fucking ruined it, but whatever. That's kind of just what he does, right?"  
  
Patrick looked up at him, eyebrows slightly knitted, and pulled at the hem of Joe's t-shirt until Joe sat himself down on the bed beside him. "I'm not interested in some girl, Joe. I still just want to be with you."  
  
"And I sort of know that, but I still felt kind of like… _jealous_ or something, because I wanted her to know that I had dibs on you. And the dumb thing is that I don't. It's none of my business, anymore. You can date whoever you want."  
  
Patrick gave an awkward hum of a laugh. "Except the one person I actually want to…" He slumped down on the bed, shifting until Joe laid down next to him, shoulder to shoulder, both gazing at the left over smears of Blu-Tack on the ceiling. "I don't know what I'd do if I thought someone was making moves on you… Probably, like, choke them out or something, I guess."  
  
Joe wasn't completely sure whether he was even joking.  
  
They stayed there in silence for what felt like an age, arms pressed together from shoulder to wrist, knuckles somehow slotted against each other. He didn't really mean to, but he slipped two of his fingers between Patrick's, half holding his hand in reverse. He heard the breath catch in Patrick's chest and carefully tugged them away again, afraid that it was too much, only to find his hand snatched back and clasped in Patrick's own. His palm was sweaty against Joe's and he held on too tight, like he was afraid of letting go.  
  
Joe closed his eyes, trying to slow down time so that he could stave off the moment that he pulled his hand away and suggested that they get some sleep.  
  
Before he could, Patrick's voice whispered, "Is it weird that I miss this the most?"  
  
Joe shook his head against the mattress.  
  
"I mean, I'm a guy, right? I feel like I should be missing other stuff, y'know? And I do, and if you wanted to make out right now, I would be _so_ down with it, but I miss this most."  
  
"Me too, I guess. And I _would_ , but it's just that, like, I'm afraid we'd fuck things up more, man."  
  
"We already broke up, Joe - how much worse can it get?"  
  
"I figure that we were doing okay right now… I mean, in the circumstances and everything. Being friends has been kind of like… getting easier, right?"  
  
Patrick's cheeks turned a little pink at the suggestion. "Depends on how you define 'friends', I guess."  
  
"Well, I kind of define it as, like, two people who enjoy each other's company and hang out while, like, _not dating_."  
  
"What about if you used to date, and were really kind of in love, right, and then you stop dating, and you're supposed to be friends, but you're _still_ really kind of in love and all you can think about when you're... y'know, _alone_ … is that friend you used to date? And even when you try to think of something else, it's still always them? And I mean, what if you talked that friend into sharing a bed with you and now it sounds kind of creepy and not at all completely normal and healthy, like how you planned it?"  
  
Joe didn't really know what to say. He hadn't much felt like having that kind of 'alone time' since they broke up. He'd just been so miserable and exhausted by everything, he hadn't really even thought about it. Patrick was in his mind pretty much constantly, anyway. Even now, the thought made his breath catch a little, and Patrick was right next to him - he had no need to imagine it - but he was so afraid of making things worse for them both, and of damaging their friendship, that he froze.  
  
"It doesn't have to mean we're dating," Patrick offered, "it could just be, y'know - a _thing_. Just a thing that happened." He cast him a small, sidelong glance and curled up one corner of his lips, fleetingly. "A Christmas miracle."  
  
"Patrick - dude… I… I mean, I think about you about a thousand per cent of the time. I just, kind of like, don't want to make you feel worse by doing stuff when it can't change anything, right now…"  
  
For a minute, Patrick turned redder, his eyes flitting around as they always did when he didn't know what to say. Then, very carefully, he said, "What if I said I got that, and that I know and I wouldn't expect things to change?"  
  
"I don't know that it's just like, as easy as that, dude. I mean… it's not just you that might get hurt."  
  
"Like who?" Patrick asked sharply, turning to look at him, his eyebrows pinched together with a rush of anger.  
  
" _Me_."  
  
"Oh." As quickly as it had flared, the anger on Patrick's face dissolved into embarrassment. "Shit… yeah - sorry, that makes me sound like such an asshole... I just thought you meant… I dunno. Somebody else."  
  
Joe yanked at Patrick's hand and shifted so he was looking down at him, staring him unblinkingly in the eye, in the hope that Patrick might finally accept the truth. "There's _nobody else_ , Patrick. Seriously."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Dude, why won't you believe that?" Joe asked, kind of hurt. "It kind of makes it sound like you don't trust me."  
  
"I do," Patrick shrugged, gazing down toward his socked feet. "I do, but I guess I just feel pretty shitty about everything, and I'm a little paranoid, because I always thought you could do better than this speccy little nerd who's already started losing his hair, y'know?"  
  
Patrick's eyes flicked back up to meet Joe's as he finished his little confession, and his chest clenched tight. _No - no, dude, you were always too good for me._  
  
Joe let his forehead meet Patrick's with a sorry little thump. "That's such bullshit."  
  
"Is it?"  
  
"You're still, like, the most beautiful dude I've ever seen."  
  
They lay there together, Joe's nose pressed to Patrick's cheek, Patrick's hand stroking lightly at his side. The gentle tickle of Patrick's breath against his ear was familiar and tender and if he closed his eyes, it could almost be a couple of months ago - an average night when everything was okay. It was everything he wanted and exactly what he knew he couldn't have, anymore.  
  
The sound of footsteps creaking in the hall caused them to jerk back from each other abruptly. Joe was momentarily sixteen again and afraid of Patrick's mom catching them kissing, even though they weren't. Closer to it than he knew they ought to be, but not as close as he really wanted. He almost fell off the narrow mattress and Patrick had to catch him by a snag in his canvas belt.  
  
"Night, Patrick; night, Joe. Merry Christmas"  
  
"Um - goodnight, Mom," Patrick called back, awkwardly. "Merry Christmas."  
  
"Night, Mrs. Stumph."  
  
They remained frozen until they heard the soft click of her bedroom door closing.  
  
"You don't, like… think she heard any of that, do you?"  
  
Biting his lip, Patrick shook his head slowly.  
  
Carefully, Joe manoeuvred to sit down on the edge of the bed again, trying to gently extract himself from the moment. "Do you think it would be okay if I took a superfast shower, or something, dude? I feel kind of gross."  
  
"Wow, thanks."  
  
"No - from the show - "  
  
Patrick was laughing a little as he sat up, one arm curling across his back. "I know," he said, and leaned closer to kiss him on the shoulder. "I'll get you a towel."  
  
  
  
While Patrick took his turn in the shower, Joe tucked himself under the covers and wondered if it might be a little safer for one of them to sleep elsewhere. Maybe even top-to-tail, like he used to with his school friends when he was in elementary. He regretted not bringing an extra t-shirt to sleep in, but he'd been in such a hurry after Andy's intervention that he hadn't even thought about it and he didn't want to wear the one he'd brought to wear to Christmas dinner. He couldn't borrow Patrick's because none of his possessions were there anymore and he'd only packed for himself. It wasn't that it he was worried about Patrick seeing him shirtless, all of a sudden, it was the fact there was just so much of his skin exposed to be brushed or bumped against. He felt vulnerable and he didn't trust himself to have the willpower to resist temptation. So he lay under the blankets with his hands clasped under his arms and fretted.  
  
_Don't fuck this up more than like, you already did. Don't hurt him, or make him feel any shittier, or bad about himself or anything. Just, like, say you're tired and go right to sleep, dude. It's the only way._  
  
Or maybe he should flat out pretend he already was asleep. That would save a lot more trouble.  
  
When Patrick crept in, Joe was curled against the wall, arms still clasped around himself but his eyes closed. He could hear Patrick rifling through his rucksack - _Please be finding clothes_ \- and then felt the mattress dipping as he climbed on to the bed beside him.  
  
"Joe? Hey, are you asleep?" Patrick nudged him in the spot on his ribs where he knew he was ticklish, and he had no choice but to squirm.  
  
" _Fuck_! I _was_. Thanks."  
  
"Sorry… I just wanted to ask you something. I mean, you don't have to answer, y'know, but…"  
  
"What?" Joe asked, shifting on to his other side to look at him uncertainly.  
  
"Do…" Patrick trailed off and cleared his throat, but the beginning of the sentence implied another proposition and Joe began to open his mouth to cut him off. "Do you think things would have been different if we didn't move in with Pete?"  
  
_Oh_. "Um. I don't know, dude. Maybe. But like… I'd still have to go to school and we'd still have to work, and do the band and stuff…"  
  
Patrick nodded slowly, seeming to think this through. "I was kind of afraid that maybe I was wrong about letting him move in with us, y'know? Like maybe I seriously fucked up and you just didn't want to say it."  
  
"You were definitely wrong, dude," Joe told him, trying for a smile but only managing half. "But I'm pretty sure it's only like, one thing… I'd still suck at everything anyway."  
  
"Hm."  
  
Patrick settled down to lie on the pillow, facing him, and Joe noticed the t-shirt he'd chosen. It had to be deliberate, because Patrick never wore it, anymore, and he'd taken the time to find it and pack it. He decided not to mention it, in case the whole point was to get them talking about that first time, in the basement of that very house, but his stomach still bottomed out at the thought of it.  
  
With the light behind him, Patrick's pupils had expanded so much that the green in his eyes had almost vanished into the blue. Joe could still remember the first time he'd noticed the mix of colour in them - they'd only been hanging out a couple of weeks and the sun was vividly bright on a warm April afternoon. Patrick had laughed at the fascinated look on his face when he asked if it was real or just his colour blindness being weird, and had tried to explain it - _"It has a name… something beginning with 'h'.. Or maybe 'c' - I dunno. My sister has the same thing."_ And those colours had dominated his dreams for days afterward.  
  
"You're staring."  
  
Joe blinked. "Oh… sorry. I was just thinking."  
  
"What about?"  
  
"Nothing, dude… just memories."  
  
Patrick took a long, deep breath and exhaled it in a sigh. "Good ones?"  
  
"They're pretty much all good ones." _Everything about you is good_.  
  
"Yeah," Patrick said quietly, "they were." He reached out and rested his hand lightly on the side of Joe's face, stroking under his eye delicately, as if brushing something away.  
  
The reasonable and appropriate response would have been to reiterate what they'd said about time. But between reason and impulse something misfired, and instead, Joe leaned forward, his hand grasping Patrick's t-shirt, and kissed him. It was exactly the opposite of what he knew he should do and 100% what he'd wanted to do every day for the past two weeks, and he'd kind of committed to it now, so he couldn't pull away when Patrick quickly shifted closer and kissed him back.  
  
The reprimanding voice in Joe's head sounded uncomfortably like Andy. _You absolute fucking idiot. What do you think you're gonna do now?_


	19. Kisses On The Necks Of Best Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe saw him first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is somewhat transitional - no great strides in plot are made, but it aligns things for them to progress to the next phase of the story.
> 
> * * *
> 
> This chapter has been through many permutations since its inception and would not exist in its current format without the help of my wonderful betas, [distortedmya](http://archiveofourown.org/users/distortedmya/pseuds/distortedmya) and [heartofthesunrise](http://archiveofourown.org/users/heartofthesunrise/pseuds/heartofthesunrise), both of whom are excellent writers in the own right. Also to [shiny_starlight](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shiny_starlight/pseuds/shiny_starlight) for always being there.

**The World’s Not Waiting (For Joe Trohman To Stop Being A Pussy And Start Going For What He Wants) [19/?]  
** _Part Nineteen: Kisses on the necks of best friends_

_"But for what we've become, we just feel more alone."_  
  
  
Joe was sitting on the couch in Patrick's mom's living room when Andy's text arrived. Patrick tilted his head, cheek pressed against Joe's shoulder and tried to hide his smile when he read it. He'd been smiling all day, though, so it was hard to tell if the two were related.  
  
_How's it going?_  
  
What Joe wanted to say was, _I fucked up and I don't know how to tell him_. Or, _I think I might be a bigger asshole than Pete_. Or, _His family are being so nice and I don't deserve it_.  
  
Instead, he stuffed his phone back in his pocket without responding.  
  
His plan to be an adult and have some restraint and not fuck things up more than they needed to be, had disintegrated. When Joe woke up, sweaty from nightmares, Patrick seemed to have forgotten all his promises about nothing changing. He'd looked the happiest he'd been in months, kissing him good morning before Joe was even fully awake.  
  
He could have stopped it at the kiss, the night before, but Patrick had seemed so desperate for something - almost anything - it had been too hard to keep saying no. And Joe hadn't wanted to stop either, really, even though he knew he should - that he should stop it and apologise and volunteer to sleep in the basement. It hadn't taken much more than kissing and grinding against Joe's hip before Patrick was giggling and apologising and scrambling out of bed to retrieve wet wipes that he'd evidently planned far enough ahead to pack in his rucksack. When he crawled back under the covers, his skin chilly, he curled against Joe's side and pushed his fingertips under the waistband of his underwear, palm resting on his stomach.  
  
"Do you want me to…?"  
  
"I do, but we probably shouldn't..."  
  
Even as Patrick knelt back on his heels and lifted the blanket over his head, he half-heartedly protested, telling him it was cool, he didn't need to, but they both knew it wasn't about what either of them needed. Patrick knew him inside out and if he'd thought Joe really wanted him to, he would have stopped. But Joe hadn't - he'd wanted every second of it - it was the guilt he could do without.  
  
When they'd fallen asleep, it was with Patrick's back against his chest, Joe's arm tucked around him and his hand clasped in his fist. And it had been Patrick in his nightmares, demanding to know why he was good enough to make out with but not to date, and Patrick there when he started awake, soothing him and asking what he'd been dreaming about. It made it hard to distinguish which moments where real and which ones weren't.  
  
Christmas Day, when he was trapped with Patrick's family and no car to get home in, didn't feel like the best time to set him straight about what had happened and what it did or didn't mean. He fleetingly considered walking to his parents' a couple of miles away, but even if he'd been willing to let Patrick down on that front, too, he wouldn't have been able to explain why he was there. So, he did his best to behave normally; dutifully signed his name on the Christmas cards for Patrick's parents and siblings before Patrick led him down to join the others for breakfast by the hand, didn't duck away when he kissed him, wrapped an arm around his shoulders when they all settled in to watch Home Alone on TV and Patrick curled himself in beside him. He thanked them for their gifts, feeling guilty that Patrick's dad would give him a $30 gift card for the Music Exchange and that his brother had remembered talking to him about a movie a year ago and got him a copy on DVD, when Joe hadn't even known what Patrick had got them until the gifts were unwrapped. He made a note to give Patrick the giftcard when they got home. It wouldn't have felt right using it - he almost couldn't accept it, but knew that if he hadn't it would have blown their cover and humiliated Patrick entirely.  
  
Patrick's mom had got them a joint gift - hotel vouchers, like she thought they'd appreciate the time away from Pete. She wasn't exactly wrong, in Joe's eyes, but it was the only time during the day that Patrick's smile faltered. When she left the room, later, he mumbled something about using them in an emergency to get some cheap rooms when they next went on tour.  
  
All day Joe felt like he was on the verge of falling, panic caught in his chest. Sitting there, elbow to elbow at the dinner table and curled together on the couch in the presence of Patrick's family - which they'd never really done when they were actually together, because they'd been too self-conscious - reminded him how much he'd given up. While the others talked and celebrated, he ran through scenarios in his head, wondering whether it would be worse for Patrick to expect this to mean they were back together and to have to tell him, or if it would be harder to find that Patrick knew exactly that, and all of this had really been for Patrick's mom's benefit.  
  
Patrick's dad and stepmom dropped them home on the way through town, that evening. It was late and it had started snowing again by the time Patrick was fumbling with the door key with frozen hands until Joe nudged him out of the way and opened it himself. They trudged up the stairs together and Patrick leaned sleepily on his shoulder as Joe stopped to open the apartment door. In spite of himself, Joe wrapped an arm around him and guided him into the hall.  
  
"Thanks, Joe," Patrick yawned, pulling him into a hug and resting most of his weight against him. "For everything."  
  
Joe shrugged awkwardly. "I promised." _You also promised yourself you'd be a responsible adult, but that didn't exactly pan out_.  
  
"No, I just…" Patrick pulled away a little, looking up at him with his glasses half-fogged out and his knitted cap askew. "It meant a lot, y'know? That you'd do that for me. In the circumstances."  
  
"We made a deal, dude," Joe reminded him, gently taking off his glasses for him and wiping them with the sleeve of the hoodie poking out from under his parka. He gave a downcast smile as Patrick grinned and turned his face up to him for the glasses to be put back on his nose, his eyes closed. Joe carefully replaced them and dropped his hands limply at his sides, trying to avoid doing something stupid, like stroking the flushed pink of his cheeks. He shrugged off his coat, instead, and hung it on the rack beside them.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Joe - "  
  
"Listen, about last night…"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I just, like, wanted to say I'm sorry if I got weird."  
  
"Don't be - I like you weird," Patrick laughed softly, reaching out to knock Joe's knuckles with his own.  
  
"No, but, none of that was supposed to happen, basically, and I didn't want you to feel like I was kind of like jerking you along, or anything…"  
  
He sighed, taking a long breath and exhaling it deliberately. "I don't. I mean, I _hoped_ it might change things, y'know? But… I kind of have the feeling you're saying it doesn't and I guess I asked for it, right?"  
  
"You sort of did, actually," Joe told him, trying to suppress the little burst of relief in his chest, although he couldn't help smiling. Maybe things really would be okay - maybe Patrick was the most understanding and forgiving person he'd ever known. If the situation had been reversed, Joe wasn't sure he'd have been able to be quite so accepting. He wasn't even sure he could be accepting of it as things stood.  
  
"And you let me, in case you forgot - I actually hoped it was a little more memorable than that," Patrick complained, but he was pulling his cutest petulant face.  
  
"I'm not gonna forget it any time soon, dude, trust me."  
  
Patrick bit his lip mischievously and looked up at him through his lashes, eyes sparkling. "Well, there's more where that came from, if you change your mind."  
  
"Don't do the face!" Joe ordered, obscuring his view with both hands over Patrick's eyes. Patrick knew that look could get him pretty much whatever he wanted and Joe was virtually powerless to stop it. "It's not fair to use the face, dude. I'm vulnerable and it's cheating."  
  
Laughing, Patrick tugged his hands away and held them lightly. "I'm serious, though. If you change your mind, I'll always say 'yes', y'know?"  
  
"Yeah," he replied, studying their fingers rather than look him in the eye, because it would be far too easy to fall into that trap. "I know."  
  
For a moment, they stood together, neither of them speaking until Patrick opened his mouth and then closed it again, in favour of a vague, 'ummm…'.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Could… Okay, look - I kind of have something to give you," he confessed, adjusting the knitted cap on his head and pushing his hair out of his eyes. "I got it kind of a while ago and I wasn't sure it was still a good idea or anything, but… I dunno. If you want it, you can keep it, if you don't…" Patrick looked up at him with a small, coy laugh, and shrugged, "I guess I'll find somewhere to hide it and try not to feel like an idiot."  
  
Joe blinked a few times, unsure what to say. Patrick had already given him a live album of Joy Division at Les Bains Douches, he didn't think there needed to be anything else, given that they'd broken up.  
  
He moved to the doorway as Patrick walked into his room, switching on the lamp on the bedside cabinet as he did so, and watched him crouch on the floor to pull shoeboxes out from under his bed. The third one he opened and pulled out something in a folded paper bag. He hesitated, clutching it close to his chest as if having second thoughts, and then unceremoniously held it out to him, explaining, "I didn't think I was gonna give it to you, y'know, so I'm sorry it isn't wrapped."  
  
Dropping his bag by the door, Joe stepped into the room to take it out of his hand. "Thanks."  
  
"Don't thank me until you've opened it," Patrick told him with a nervous laugh.  
  
Carefully, with slight trepidation, Joe unfolded the paper and pulled out the gift inside. Immediately, his heart skipped and seemed to drop into his belly, a small lump rising to his throat. It was a picture frame, simple, dark stained wood with thick, blocky edges. But it was the photo inside that caught him - he didn't know when it had been taken, although it was clearly in the back of Andy's van. The two of them lay asleep on piles of sleeping bags, Patrick's nose tucked under Joe's chin, his arm half under his t-shirt. Even in sleep, Joe was smiling, one arm under his head, the other wrapped tight around Patrick's waist.  
  
"Dude…"  
  
"Is it weird? I mean, I thought it was kind of cute and funny when I did it, y'know? I think it's from like a year ago. Pete had an old roll of film he just got developed and he gave it to me… There's a couple more, but I liked this one."  
  
"No, it's… it's really…" _It's fucking heartbreaking, basically_. "Thank you." Stiltedly, he leaned in to wrap Patrick in a hug, feeling him move into it too quickly and hold on too tight. He rested his forehead on Patrick's hair and tried to remember being as happy as he looked in the photo.  
  
"Pete thinks it was when we did that show in Minneapolis," Patrick told him, mouth pressed against his shoulder. Joe wasn't sure - he wasn't sure it even mattered. "I really hope that one day we can be that way again, y'know?"  
  
"One day," Joe murmured back, and it felt more like an agreement than an appeasement. They stood there, holding each other tight for a few, lingering moments, before Joe forced himself to pull away. "I should go to bed. I have to be in work early - sales and stuff…"  
  
Patrick gave him his bravest smile and nodded, backing away a little.  
  
"Oh, and hey, I want to give you that giftcard from your dad," Joe told him, scrambling to get it out of his bag. "It doesn't feel right to keep it. Like it's dishonest or something, basically."  
  
"No, dude - it's yours."  
  
"Please? He gave it to me because he thinks I'm still, like, his son-in-law, or something and… stuff changed. Take it off my hands, dude, or I'm just gonna feel bad."  
  
Reluctantly, Patrick pulled it out of his fingers. "I'll put it somewhere, in case you change your mind, okay? Or, y'know… for if it becomes true again."  
  
Joe nodded. Better that than arguing over it. "Thanks."  
  
"Maybe we can watch that _13 Ghosts_ DVD together, sometime?"  
  
"Yeah, dude. We should."  
  
"Tomorrow night? Maybe we can watch it before Pete spoils it or something, y'know?" Patrick suggested, and Joe found himself nodding, a tugging in his stomach encouraging him to agree to pretty much anything Patrick wanted.  
  
"Okay, but you're not allowed to take advantage of me, again, dude."  
  
"Hey, who got blown, you or me?"  
  
"You might have if you'd kind of like _waited_ , dude."  
  
Laughing indignantly, Patrick gave him a poke in the ribs and gently shoved him out of the room. "Well, apparently I need to work up my tolerance, so get out, unless you want to help."  
  
Joe walked over to his own room, glancing back to smile at him before opening the door. "Night."  
  
"Night, Bambi."  
  
For a moment, Joe stayed, gazing at the closed door, contemplating striding in, throwing them both down on the bed and finishing what they'd started, but he lacked both the nerve and the finesse to pull it off, so he settled for jerking off by himself in his own room, the photo still clasped in his free hand.  
  
\---  
  
On the way home from work, the next day, Joe stopped at the store and bought some microwave popcorn and snacks for their film night. He'd been quietly looking forward to it all day, because it had been the first morning in a long time that he'd woken up without a weight across his chest. He felt lighter, like he didn't have the world's expectations on his shoulders. Maybe tonight he could just spend time hanging out with Patrick, watching a movie and starting to normalise being friends, making it work like he'd wanted them to.  
  
When he got home, though, the apartment was empty. He knocked on Patrick's door, already knowing from the feel of the place that no one was in.  
  
There was a flutter on the carpet when he walked into his own room, and he looked down to find a hastily scrawled note on the back of half a utility bill.  
  
_Had to go to the hospital with Pete. I'll explain when I get home. Don't worry._  
  
_Sorry._  
  
_P x_  
  
Joe stood on the threshold, re-reading the note, wondering what could be worth going to the hospital for but not serious enough to worry about. He hadn't finished work until 6pm, and wasn't home until after seven, so unless Patrick and, presumably, Pete, got home soon, there wouldn't be a lot of time left for watching a movie anyway. So, he went to take his shower and then sat in the kitchen, eating instant ramen out of the pot, picking the strands up on his fork one by one and letting them slop back into the broth.  
  
At nine forty-five he gave up and went and sat in his room, tinkering with the band website he'd been working on in the small amount of time he had between homework and work and the band and Patrick, before giving up on it. They'd sat together at the desk, a couple of months earlier, Patrick perched on his knee answering stupid little questions for the bio page, while Joe typed around him, chin propped over his shoulder. He re-read them, smiling to himself a little. They'd had to delete some of the answers because they were too revealing.  
  
Maybe he should have taken an IT course,instead, at least that would have been useful.  
  
He froze at the sound of a key turning in the lock. He could hear voices - both Patrick and Pete - so he got to his feet and opened the door to peer out to the hall.  
  
"Everything okay?" he asked, looking first at Pete, who seemed fine, and then to Patrick, who just looked tired.  
  
"Yeah," Patrick nodded. "Just a near miss."  
  
Pete shrugged and gave a guilty grin. "Sorry I ruined your night, kind of."  
  
Reflexively, Joe thought, _No, you aren't_ , and then mentally reprimanded himself for being suspicious and mean. "What happened?"  
  
"New medication, bro. They changed the dosage, I kind of forgot, overdid it. Rickster noticed and took me to the emergency room to get checked out." He wrapped an arm around Patrick's shoulders, pulling him close while Patrick stuffed his hand in his pockets and shrugged.  
  
"It seemed like the sensible thing to do. I don't know… maybe it was over cautious or something."  
  
"My little guardian angel."  
  
"It's really not a big deal," Patrick insisted, shying away from the hug. He turned his attention to Joe, glancing at Pete meaningfully, as if hoping he'd leave them alone. Pete stayed exactly where he was. "Sorry about tonight, dude. Maybe tomorrow we could -"  
  
"I'm on stock check," Joe replied, hearing it fall out of his mouth too quickly and too sharp. Hurriedly, he tried to soften it, seeing the look on Patrick's face and regretting making him feel bad for being a good friend. "But we can try another day."  
  
"Totally." Patrick's enthusiastic nod made him almost crack a grin, but it was quickly cut short when Pete spoke.  
  
"So, we need to get to bed, dude."  
  
"We?"  
  
Patrick sighed heavily. "I need to camp out in his room to make sure he doesn't die in his sleep or something. I dunno. The doctor didn't want him to be alone overnight, and it was this or they made him stay in."  
  
"Right. Well, I guess I'll kind of like... see you tomorrow, or something," Joe said, trying hard not to sound like he wanted to slam his bedroom door in their faces, even though he kind of did. "Night."  
  
He closed the door carefully and turned to lean against it, shutting his eyes. _No right to be jealous. No right to be jealous. No right to be jealous_.  
  
In the hall, there were murmurs and then the sound of Pete's door opening and then Patrick's opening and closing. The apartment fell quiet. Joe waited for a moment, then opened his door to cross the hall and brush his teeth. He'd only got a pace outside when Patrick’s door reopened and he shushed him silently and beckoned him in.  
  
Confused, Joe followed, finding him naked from the waist up, his T-shirt bunched up in his hands, anxiously. Patrick quickly closed the door behind him as Joe walked in, and he was really starting to wonder what the fuck was happening.  
  
"Dude?"  
  
"Um, sorry - I'm kind of supposed to be getting ready for bed," Patrick explained, awkwardly. "Do you mind?"  
  
"Um, I guess not, man, but…?"  
  
Patrick was already unbuckling his belt from the hip, his hat tossed on the bed, his glasses next to the stereo. "So, I'm really sorry about tonight, y'know? I really wanted us to hang out, but -"  
  
"Pete."  
  
"Yeah. And I mean, maybe I overreacted, but he'd literally just got done talking about how his doctor upped his dosage but lowered how many he can have, or something, and I was just talking about how yesterday went okay and everything, and how we'd made plans or whatever, and he's just popping this bunch he took out of the bottle, one by one and I'm kind of thinking, 'geez', y'know? So, I asked him how many he was meant to take, and he read the bottle and was like, 'oh, crap - I thought it was four in every two hours, but it's two in every four,' or something. Turned out that since Christmas Eve, when the last batch ran out, he took like two and a half times the prescribed dose."  
  
"Shit, that's pretty bad."  
  
"Yeah. I mean, I know he sucks at this kind of stuff, but even by his standards, that was dumb and risky, y'know?" Patrick's jeans were tossed on to the bed while he dug clean pyjama pants out of his drawer.  
  
Joe watched, not really sure what to say.  
  
"I mean, it was a mistake, but what if I hadn't picked up on it?"  
  
"Yeah… that could have been pretty bad, man."  
  
Patrick wobbled on one foot as he pulled on an old pair of flannel pants. "But, y'know, you're not too mad, right?"  
  
"No, dude, of course not. Someone has to take care of his stupid ass."  
  
"Yeah." Patrick paused, lightly shaking out a folded t-shirt as Joe's eyes wandered over his pale shoulders, feeling guilty for looking. "The staying in his room thing is kind of annoying, though."  
  
Joe looked up to meet his eyes, weary and uncertain and a little unfocused without his glasses. "Hm."  
  
"I'm serious. He's just gonna talk all night, and I won't get any sleep, even though I have work tomorrow, and -" He paused again, pulling on his shirt, and not coming back to meet Joe's gaze. "What if he _did_ die, dude? I don't want to wake up and find my best friend's body in the bed!"  
  
"He won't. Honestly, dude, I think he could probably have like, taken the whole bottle without there being any kind of effect, basically. He's been taking them since he was like thirteen or something."  
  
"Those things can kill you."  
  
"But they didn't, dude, and they wouldn't have sent him home if they were that worried, would they?"  
  
"I guess not," Patrick sighed. He stepped forward and tentatively reached out his hands to Joe's waist, waiting for him to respond before wrapping his arms around him and resting his cheek against his chest. Joe let him, folding his arms across Patrick's back, comfortingly. "I just really wish he hadn't done this today. I was looking forward to our little thing."  
  
"Yeah, me too," Joe said. "But we can do it another night. The snacks'll keep, I think."  
  
"You got snacks?"  
  
Feeling a little embarrassed, like he was making a big deal out of it, Joe shrugged and dismissed it as much as he could. "Just popcorn, basically, dude."  
  
"Well, thanks - I promise we'll hang out one day this week, okay? Before New Year. We have like a week of shows coming up, so…"  
  
"I forgot about those." He was supposed to quit his job in advance, because he was on a seasonal contract and wasn't supposed to take vacation. He hadn't even thought about looking for a new one, yet. Touring in the Midwest in January wasn't exactly an idea he relished. The van was going to be an icebox.  
  
"Maybe we can use the vouchers from Mom, one night…" Patrick said, catching his eye and slipping his fingers under the hem of Joe's t-shirt, pressing thumbs and hips into Joe's. They felt hot against his skin and he gently writhed away before it got awkward.  
  
_Fuck. Too late._  
  
"Dude…"  
  
"Sorry." Patrick's cheeks flushed dark pink and he tucked his arms around himself in embarrassment, stepping back.  
  
"I should, like -" He waved in the direction of the bathroom.  
  
Patrick nodded, jerkily. "Yeah."  
  
"Night."  
  
Joe locked himself in the bathroom and rested his head against the cool surface of the mirror. He felt weird. Frustrated and lightheaded and the tiniest bit angry with Pete for fucking it up. Pete was smarter than that - he was sure he was. Or maybe Pete's smartness was the problem. Maybe Pete knew exactly what to do to get his own way and Patrick had fallen for it.  
  
When he went back to his room, he could already hear the low rumble of conversation. Voices both deeper than his own, making him feel like a shrill little kid. Perhaps he shouldn't have shrugged away Patrick's advances. Maybe he should have returned the favour from Christmas Eve to make sure he wasn’t in the mood for Pete's attention, before letting him in there to share a bed with him. But maybe that would have made it worse. He was under no illusion that his pasty, scrawny body was any comparison to Pete's firm, tanned one.  
  
Every time he closed his eyes, he pictured them, stretched out on Pete's bed, Pete leaning into Patrick's personal space, grinning like a great white. It made his heart rate rise in the worst kind of way. He thought about getting up and knocking on the door, asking to hang out with them, imagining the look on Pete's face as he made excuses about wanting to sleep. Instead, he got up and turned on his stereo, placing _Les Bains Douches_ in the tray and letting the terminally bleak strains of Joy Division ease him to sleep.  
  
\---  
  
By the time Joe got up, the next day, Patrick was already well into his shift at the record store. He wandered into the kitchen to get coffee and then shuffled drowsily into the living room, where Pete was eating cereal in his boxers and Patrick's hoodie, watching The Simpsons. Joe tried not to be irritated - Pete wore or used everyone else's stuff whenever he felt like it. It was lucky for him that none of them were wildly different builds.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
Pete glanced at him, and then grinned a double-take. "Morning, lil' bro." He shifted so there was more room on the couch for Joe to join him. He waited for him to sit before answering. "I'm pretty good, dude."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"So, no side effects of accidentally, like, overdosing on brain pills?"  
  
"Nah. Patrick was just freaking out over nothing, kind of. He worries about me, dude. It's kind of adorable."  
  
Joe swallowed and nodded slowly. "Yeah, he is."  
  
"So, how are things with you guys, anyway?"  
  
"I figured you probably asked him, already."  
  
"I don't need to, he just kind of like, tells me, anyway. I wanted to know how you think things are, dude. You basically avoided me for like three weeks."  
  
"I wasn't," Joe lied. "It's just been kind of rough, dude. I didn't want to speak to anybody, basically." That part was true, at least.  
  
For a few moments, Pete stared at the side of his face and Joe studiously focused on the TV, knowing that he was a weak liar. He took a sip from his mug even though it was too hot, just for something nonchalant to do.  
  
"I wanted to tell you I'm proud of you, little bro," Pete said finally, and his voice had that soft edge it took on when he was saying something important; private.  
  
"For what?"  
  
"For doing the right thing. For thinking about the band and how the shit we do affects everyone. For having principles, kind of."  
  
Joe focused intently on the bubbles popping on the surface tension of his drink. He didn't answer. He didn't think he could, without choking on the words. _Maybe you could do with some of those, too, dude._  
  
"I know he sucks at accepting it, right now. But he will. Eventually, you're both gonna get over it and everything's gonna work out, and you'll be better friends for it. Trust me."  
  
Silently, he nodded. He wasn't sure Pete was exactly the ideal person to give relationship advice.  
  
"Look, I've always been there for you, haven't I? I kicked dudes' asses for you, Troh. I'm on your side, and I know how fucking hard it is. Sometimes the most painful thing is the right thing to do. But you gotta be strong, 'cause he isn't. He's had a tough few months, right? What with getting kicked out of home and stuff. All he wants is for some kind consistency, or whatever, so he can't keep himself from trying to get what he knows back. I don't think it's even totally about you."  
  
"We almost… I mean, stuff got kind of intense," Joe confessed, not sure why Pete had any right to know this, but wanting to tell him, regardless. Compelled to confide in him, even though deep down, he still felt like he and Patrick might never have wound up here without Pete's input. "On Christmas."  
  
"I know. He told me. He tells me basically everything." Pete paused to set his bowl on the floor beside his feet and Joe watched him out of the corner of his eye. "I feel like I know more about your relationship than you do, kind of. I mean, he told me that he tried to get in your pants again, last night, and that you didn't want it, and that he's kind of embarrassed. He thinks you're mad at him, which I told him was dumb, because that's not how you work, but he's kind of insecure about the whole thing."  
  
"I'm not mad at him and I did want it," Joe admitted, surprised that that was even in question. He hated the idea that Patrick would think he'd get mad at him for wanting the same thing he did, when he'd spent a couple of hours afterwards gazing at the ceiling and imagining all the scenarios in which he hadn't pushed him away. "He's kind of like… I love him dude, but I just, like… don't want to make things harder. He knows that. I told him."  
  
"Yeah, well, sometimes it doesn't matter what you say, man, he's never gonna hear it. That kid doesn't know half of what he's worth to anybody and won't believe it when you tell him, kind of."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"It's good that you're hanging out, though - I guess eventually the feelings are gonna wear out, or whatever. Then we can move on."  
  
"We can?"  
  
"Well, yeah, dude - it's like I said, when it affects you, it affects all of us."  
  
"I just don't wanna fuck everything up. That's why I even thought about breaking up with him, basically. Things have been so shitty, the past couple of months, I know that one day it's just gonna like - " he gave a grim snort of a laugh into his mug, thinking of the album he'd been listening to when he fell asleep, "- 'tear us apart' I guess. I mean, there's other stuff, too, because I kind of felt like everyone expected me to give a hundred percent to everything and like, zero percent to me, and I just needed some room, basically, but that doesn't mean I don't totally wish things were better. It's not that I wanted to be broken up, or not be with him, I just… I just didn't feel like I could breathe with the way things were, and then there was that whole thing with that band who broke up around Chanukah when we did the show, and I really didn't want that to happen to us."  
  
"That's why I'm proud of you, dude. You made a decision that went against what you wanted, for the good of everybody else. That's a really grown up thing to do, kind of."  
  
"I just wish it didn't have to feel so shitty or hurt him so bad, dude," Joe told him.  
  
Pete slung an arm around his neck and pulled him close, almost slopping hot coffee across both of them. "I'll take care of him, don't worry. I'll take care of both of you stupid kids, until you work it out." He grinned at Joe, all teeth and crinkled eyes. "Just talk to me, man. I'm not Hurley, but fucking love you like he does, okay?"  
  
"I thought you wanted us to break up," Joe told him, feeling a little stupid. "I mean, you and Patrick…"  
  
"Me and Patrick are best friends, man. What I wanted was for him not to get strung along by someone who was over it, kind of."  
  
"I'm not over it." _I'll probably never be over it, basically_.  
  
"It takes time, buddy. One day you're gonna wake up and it'll just be Patrick, y'know? It won't hurt anymore."  
  
Joe wasn't actually sure he even wanted that day to come. He couldn't imagine a day when Patrick didn't mean everything to him.  
  
\---  
  
Patrick was still up when Joe got home from work, that night. He was sitting at the kitchen table, lit only by the light on the extractor fan over the cooker, nursing a can of Coke.  
  
"Hey."  
  
He seemed to jump a little when Joe pulled out a chair and dropped his weight down into it. "Hi."  
  
"How was work?"  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Good," Joe nodded, waiting to be asked the same. When Patrick didn't, he decided to tell him anyway, to try to get some conversation going. "Mine was fine, too. I can categorically tell you that modern kids have _no respect_ for He-Man toys, dude. We still have like twelve crates of the damn things."  
  
He was rewarded with a small chuckle and an amused glance that didn't quite meet his eyes.  
  
"So, I kind of talked with Pete, earlier," Joe tried again.  
  
"He told me."  
  
"Right. So… we're cool, right?"  
  
"Yeah, I guess."  
  
"Just 'guess'?"  
  
Sighing heavily, Patrick shrugged and settled back in his chair, tipping his can from side to side pensively. "I'm sorry about last night."  
  
"Don't be. I'm not."  
  
Patrick cast him a sharp look.  
  
"I mean, I'm not sorry you… whatever… not that I'm not sorry for backing off. Was everything okay, babysitting Pete?"  
  
"He wouldn't shut up until like, four this morning. And I woke up to him spooning me."  
  
"Oh." Joe frowned, starting to second-guess his recent confidence in the platonic nature of Pete's feelings. "Did you say anything?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"He was still asleep."  
  
"Maybe he, um, didn't mean to? People do weird shit in their sleep."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"When I was like, nine, my mom found me asleep in the garage in my dad's car."  
  
Patrick laughed again, small and distracted. It just made Joe all the more desperate to get through this weird mood, whatever it was, and make him genuinely smile.  
  
"So, I checked my rota, today and I'm free the day after tomorrow, if you want to watch that film or something."  
  
"That would be good."  
  
"Good. I'm like, seriously looking forward to it."  
  
"Me too," Patrick told him, looking up and properly catching his eye for the first time since he'd sat down. He looked faintly confused and a little sad and Joe didn't know what to say to make him feel okay again. He didn't even really understand what the problem was.  
  
"Dude, are you sure that's all that's bothering you?"  
  
"Yeah. It's just been a long day, y'know? And I didn't want to go to bed without apologising or anything."  
  
"I told you, we're good," Joe assured him, reaching out to catch his hand and give it a squeeze. It was carefully slipped back out of his grasp a second later. He tried not to read anything into it. Patrick was probably just being cautious after what happened. "So, did Pete say anything about what that dude from Powered by Ramen, or whatever it's called, thought of the show?"  
  
"He hasn't heard."  
  
"Well, that's reassuring."  
  
"It's Christmas, dude, nobody's working right now."  
  
"Except us."  
  
"People with cool jobs are not working right now," Patrick amended. "But Sean still hasn't said anything about when we can get 'Evening…' on sale, either."  
  
"But I thought that was like, coming out in January?"  
  
"Nope. Delayed again."  
  
"Dude, at this rate, the next album's gonna come out first!"  
  
"Yeah, seriously. We kind of need to start thinking about new material, y'know?"  
  
"Maybe we could write a song for our fans or something, dude," Joe suggested, thinking of the annoying girls who had been at the last show. _Something like, 'Back the fuck off, lady, you paid for a ticket but you don't get to hit it.'_  
  
"Fans? Wouldn't that just be, like, 'Hey, Chris…'?"  
  
Joe laughed an embarrassing snort of a guffaw, which made Patrick laugh, which made them both laugh harder and finally the tension that had been hanging over them since Joe got home began to dissipate. He couldn't help smiling to see Patrick's face finally brightening a little.  
  
"'Thanks for coming to shows and being fifteen years older than everyone else so you look like a creep.'"  
  
"'Thanks for keeping track of Pete so we can, like, make out in back.'"  
  
Patrick's laugh faded to a self-conscious grin. "'Thanks for jumping on the grenade to get us somewhere to sleep, because me and Joe are exempt.'"  
  
Joe's laugh also petered out to an awkward smile, as he tugged at his wristband and pulled a thread loose. "Are we still exempt?"  
  
"Dunno," Patrick shrugged. "You might be. Pete won't want everyone to know about the whole gay thing. He thinks it's unmarketable."  
  
"Lucky me," Joe joked, although it didn't feel very funny. It made him feel like a dirty secret, even though he kept himself as one by choice, at work and in the scene.  
  
Patrick didn't say anything, he just bumped their ankles together under the table and gave him a commiseratory half-smile. Neither of them had ever considered the prospect, because they'd always been able to play the 'No, it's cheating and I refuse' card. It definitely hadn't occurred to Joe that this might become a problem, before now, especially as until recently getting either of them to have sex with strangers for favours was probably not far from child prostitution in the eyes of the law.  
  
It also made him uncomfortable that Pete seemed to already have discussed this with Patrick, because he clearly knew Pete's views on the subject.  
  
"Do you… I mean, would you?" he asked, not wanting to hear the wrong answer and bracing himself against it, picking at a scratch in the tabletop with his nail, so he didn't have to look him in the eye when he replied.  
  
Patrick shrugged, hunched over his empty can. "I guess it depends, doesn't it?"  
  
"On what?"  
  
"On whether there's anything to stop me."


	20. Keep My Jealousy Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe saw him first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my hardworking betas, [distortedmya](http://archiveofourown.org/users/distortedmya/pseuds/distortedmya) and [heartofthesunrise](http://archiveofourown.org/users/heartofthesunrise/pseuds/heartofthesunrise), who have worked through this chaos at length. xo

**The World’s Not Waiting (For Joe Trohman To Stop Being A Pussy And Start Going For What He Wants) [20/?]**  
_Part Twenty: Keep My Jealousy Close_  
  
_Your smile reminds me of switchblades and infidelity._  
  
  
Joe's last day at the toy store was a Wednesday in the first full week in January. They had shows booked from Thursday to Sunday, none of them as far away as they had been in the summer, but not close enough to make going home each night a practical proposition. Now that he was leaving, he kind of thought he'd miss the place a little. He was starting to quite like some of his colleagues - he hadn't taken much time to hang out with them, other than when he was avoiding Patrick at the start of December, but they were decent to him. None of them knew him when he was a strange fourteen year old, so none of them treated him like he still was one, and he appreciated that.  
  
In the weeks after he and Patrick broke up, Ella - a tall, willowy girl with an 'edgy' bob, who seemed to be informally dating Craig, the middle-of-the-road stoner whose apartment served as some kind of open house for the toy store staff - had been really kind to him. On more than one occasion, realising he was kind of down about something, they'd convinced people to switch with him so he didn't have to be on the shop floor. And they'd never asked why, they just did what was needed.  
  
So, on his last shift, he made a special effort to say goodbye to them both, not expecting to really see them again.  
  
"I'm pretty bummed out that you're leaving," Ella told him, pulling her bag out of her locker in the staff room and tugging her orange beanie on. "I thought we were just starting to get to know you. Don't you even want to come over to hang out, tonight? I mean, you're always welcome to come down and hang out at Craig's place, even now you don't work here, anymore."  
  
"I kind of can't, tonight, I have to pack for tour for a few days. Maybe when I get back I could kind of like, stop by, sometime?"  
  
"The door is always open," she smiled, pulling him into a friendly hug, towering over him by at least four inches in her chunky-soled shoes. "And I hope whatever's been making you feel bad these past few weeks works itself out for you, alright?"  
  
There was a chance that he'd never see her again, so there didn't seem much point in being secretive, anymore. "I broke up with someone, so… I'm guessing it kind of won't."  
  
"Oh, you did?" She seemed genuinely sorry for him. "Were you together long? Nobody even knew you had a girlfriend."  
  
"Since I was sixteen."  
  
"Wow. No wonder you've been weird for weeks."  
  
Joe nodded slowly, not wanting to meet her eye, but wanting her to understand that they weren't - at least not in his opinion - 'just dating'. That this was a really big deal. "We, like… we live together."  
  
"Oh. _Right_."  
  
"Yeah. With a friend," he continued, glancing up at her to check she was listening. "We share an apartment and have our own rooms and stuff, but we kind of used to just use mine. And my… um, my ex is really bummed out about it, and I feel like an asshole for not being ready to just, like, get back together like they want. But I guess they've kind of been finding someone to fill up their time, now, anyway."  
  
"So, is it okay if I ask why you broke up, or is that too personal?"  
  
"It's kind of complicated, dude… but… I guess there's a lot of stuff." Joe sighed, sadly. There was so much he'd need to explain. He took a deep breath, feeling his face starting to get warm. "It's not like I feel any different about them, it's just stuff kind of got too much. I'm pretty sure they'll be happier like this, in the long term, but the thing is, like, other stuff happened a couple of weeks ago that kind of shouldn't have when we're trying to just be friends, and everything's a huge mess, basically."  
  
"Damn," she said, wrapping a companionable arm around his shoulders for a moment. "But you know, we've all been there. It's alright to feel sad about it when things don't work out. Eventually, you'll just move on."  
  
"Except we're in a band together," Joe told her, without thinking.  
  
"I know."  
  
Joe looked up at her abruptly, his heart skipping a beat. "Huh?"  
  
"You live with two guys from your band, you told me that weeks ago. Which I guess means your ex is one of those two guys. And that's fine. You don't need to hide it."  
  
He could feel his face burning, opening his mouth to say something, but not really finding the words.  
  
"I can totally see how it would make things difficult, though."  
  
"Yeah," Joe said quietly, grateful that she hadn't freaked out or told him how pathetic he was. "We're trying to just be friends, but I guess we kind of don't know how to not be dating, basically."  
  
She nodded thoughtfully. "It's not easy, but you'll get there. Listen, if you need something to make you feel a little better, a guy who used to work here is having a house party before everyone's back on college hours, next weekend. You should come along and actually try getting to know people or something. Maybe hanging out with some people who aren't in your band will take your mind off it."  
  
\---  
  
Things at home had been cordially tense, for the past couple of weeks. Ever since that night in the kitchen, things had been off. He couldn't entirely define it, but it was like something was hanging in the air between them and neither of them wanted to be the first to broach it. Even for the brief period late on a Tuesday night, when Patrick wandered into his room to find a CD he thought he might have left in there 'before', and spent half an hour perched on the edge of the mattress, which turned into an hour laying side by side on the bed, listening to the album in question - things just didn't feel right. It felt a little like being in jail and trying to have a conversation through a sheet of bulletproof glass. His fingers twitched on the comforter, wanting to spider their way across the fabric to curl around Patrick's, so he curled them against his palm, instead.  
  
New Year had been such a failure that they weren't even talking about it. Pete was having some kind of crisis about breaking up with his girlfriend again and Patrick spent the evening in his room with him, leaving Joe to watch the fireworks on TV alone, and then fall into bed with a sick feeling that this was all an omen.  
  
They'd planned to a spend a chilled out night at home, to watch the DVD together, assuming Pete would be out with Chris, because they still hadn't found a chance. In fact, there hadn't been time for anything, really. Joe had taken on a couple of extra shifts at work to help with the inevitable unemployment afterwards, and any time they tried to make plans something came up.  
  
It was all starting to feel uncomfortably familiar.  
  
Louisville was three hundred miles and six hours away, accounting for breaks, and he'd stuffed an entire box of batteries for his discman in his rucksack to get him through the next few days. If Pete was going to hog all of Patrick's attention, he was going to need something to distract himself.  
  
When Patrick pushed his bag onto the pile in the corner and settled down on the blankets beside him, though, he did so with a broad grin. He propped himself against the line of amps behind them and pulled a bag of candy out of his pocket, pushing it into Joe's lap without saying anything. Joe smiled back at him and thought that maybe it wasn't going to be as hard work as he was worried it would.  
  
They didn't curl up together with their heads in each other's laps, or snuggle against each other's shoulders, like they used to - even if Joe really kind of wanted to by the time they stopped off outside Indianapolis to grab some lunch. They just slouched together, tucked up under Joe's unzipped sleeping bag because the heaters were in the front and the floor was cold. Joe bought him some chips that he knew Patrick loved but hadn't been able to find locally since a promotion over the summer, in the gas station store, and shared his earbuds with him when Andy turned down the stereo so he could argue with Pete about what they would prefer to live without: potato or bread.  
  
Even the show went fine. It wasn't their best, or their worst, it was just a show in another city with a bunch of kids with keychains on their jeans and New Found Glory t-shirts.  
  
It was way too cold, even hundreds of miles south, for them to sleep in the van like they often did in the summer. Pete set about finding them a place to stay with bitter determination, sidling up to girls who looked old enough to be in college apartments and liberal - or desperate - enough to be willing to let the rest of them sleep in their homes just for the opportunity to say they fucked that guy from some band.  
  
The girl who agreed had a roommate with her, and crawled into the back of the van with Pete and Andy and a bottle of something that she seemed shocked they wouldn't drink with them. Joe drove almost in silence, impatiently calling for directions at intersections that he wasn't sure she even knew, trying to find his way to her apartment without a clue where he was going. Patrick sat next to him, turning the local rock station up to almost full volume to drown out whatever was going on in the back.  
  
In the dark of the strangers' living room, lying side by side on cushions from the couch and easy chair, they talked about nothing to try to block the cringe-inducing sounds from both of the bedrooms, neither of them quite ready to sleep.  
  
"I don't think I've ever wanted to be on tour less in my life," Patrick told him morosely. He nibbled on his lip, his brows furrowed in the light shining through the crooked blind. "At least we can deal with it together, though, y'know?"  
  
Joe nodded against the folded up hoodie he was using as a pillow. "I'm just glad it's only like four shows…"  
  
"Yeah… Do we have a few days before you're back in school, when we get home? Maybe we could watch that movie, finally, y'know?"  
  
"Maybe."  
  
For a few moments, there was silence, but he could feel Patrick staring at him as he gazed at the ceiling.  
  
"Joe?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"We're… I mean, we're as okay as we can be, right?"  
  
He shrugged, little more than a rustle against the fabric of his sleeping bag, afraid that if he opened his mouth something bitter and petty would come out of it, because he was still pissed off about New Year. Even as a friend, he wouldn't have abandoned Patrick - or Pete, or Andy - like that. He'd felt so second rate and insignificant, even though he knew Patrick was supposedly supporting Pete through another tough time. Neither of them had invited him to join them and he didn't feel like inviting himself in to join their little secret huddle. So, at a time when he could have been hanging out with people he cared about, and who cared about him, he was alone and miserable and it felt like the rest of the year was going to be much the same.  
  
They laid on their rows of cushions, side by side but with a few inches between them for the sake of decency, in total silence until Joe mustered the courage to say, "We should probably sleep, dude."  
  
"Yeah, I guess," Patrick nodded, and for a heart-stopping moment, looked as though he was about to prop himself up on one elbow to lean across the gap. Joe quickly mumbled, 'night' and turned over to get comfortable, facing away from him. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of Christmas Eve, on some stranger's floor. Well, maybe not the last, but he was determined not to make that same mistake again.  
  
\---  
  
They left early the next day, leaving the girl standing in the hall with a smirk on her face, wearing what appeared to be nothing but one of their merch t-shirts, three sizes too big. The roommate didn't even come out of the room to say goodbye.  
  
Pete seemed in a much more chipper mood and Andy was typically reticent, giving only a vague hand wobble in response to questioning about how his night went. He sat in the back with Joe for the three hour journey to Columbus and left Patrick to drive while Pete shouted unnecessary details over the stereo.  
  
"How was your night, Number One Fan?" Andy asked, looping his elbow around Joe's neck and giving him a sympathetic squeeze.  
  
"Fine," Joe told him in a half-whisper, looking up at the back of Patrick's head to make sure he was listening to Pete, rather than them. "A little awkward."  
  
"Why awkward?"  
  
"Because I was lying on a floor with my ex who doesn't want to be, listening to four other people fucking, basically."  
  
"Ouch. Yeah, okay, I'll give you that. Sorry, I didn't even consider it..."  
  
Joe shrugged tiredly. It was too late to care now, he just hoped that he'd get some time to sleep in the van before they unloaded for the show.  
  
"Listen, are you two okay?" Andy asked him, actually whispering, this time.  
  
"I guess, dude. I mean, like, we're broke up, living together in a shitty apartment, trapped in a van, listening to other people fucking in stereo, and Pete's basically taking up all his time… What's not to like?" He gave a cynical little laugh and spread his hands for emphasis. "I quit my job that I was actually starting to like, to be here, too! Good times!"  
  
Andy gave him a sad look. "I'm pretty sure he'd sell his mom for you to take him back. If you want it, just do it."  
  
Sighing, Joe thunked his head back against the amp at his back and closed his eyes. He didn't need to have the same conversation yet again. Eventually, they'd figure something out, but right now he needed to at least try to make this work. If he could make it through two more semesters at college, he'd be free to think about it. About ways that they could be happy, again. Right now, though, he just wanted to get through the next few days.  
  
They were sitting in a Wendy's near the venue, having lunch, when a couple of girls walked over to them.  
  
"Excuse me? Are you Fall Out Boy?"  
  
Pete grinned at them. "You here for the show?"  
  
"Yeah," one of them said. She was short and pretty and had her hair in two dark, odd-looking braids, under a winter hat. The other one was taller and more voluptuous with hair dyed firetruck red. "Sorry to interrupt, but would you sign something for us?"  
  
"Sure!" Pete said. "Come join us." He pulled at Patrick's arm to get him to shuffle further toward him, so that one of the girls could perch on the end of the booth and waved his hand at Andy to shuffle closer to Joe.  
  
The two girls smiled at each other coyly, communicating something with pointed looks, and the short one slid onto the bench next to Patrick. Joe turned his attention to his drink and twisted the straw in his fingers. _Great, here we fucking go again…_  
  
Patrick pushed his fries away from himself a little, casting Pete a sidelong look. He always got self-conscious eating around strangers.  
  
"So, how'd you hear about us, or whatever?" Pete asked. "I'm Pete, by the way. This is Joe, Andy, and this is our pet genius, Patrick."  
  
Both of the girls giggled. "Oh, we know," the red-headed one smirked, eyes fixed on her friend. "She _definitely_ knows."  
  
" _Kat_ …" the first girl hissed back. She was blushing furiously. "My, um, my cousin lives in Waukegan, and she's been to some of your shows and likes your stuff, so she showed me your website… I mean, your music is so cool… I've been waiting for you to come back down to Ohio."  
  
"Thanks," Patrick said in a small voice, casting her a sideways smile.  
  
Joe scowled.  
  
"So, now we're here," Pete grinned.  
  
Andy snorted. "Yeah, no pressure for tonight, man!"  
  
"Oh, tonight could be your worst show and I'd still be happy you came…" she insisted.  
  
"So, what's your name? I mean, I guess she's Kat."  
  
"Yeah, I'm Kat, she's Amber."  
  
"Nice to meet you," Pete said, stuffing some fries in his mouth and wiping his fingers on a paper napkin to shake their hands. "So, you're local?"  
  
"Well," Kat began, "sort of. I'm from Jersey - like the accent doesn't give it away, right? - but I'm here for college. Amber's from Lexington."  
  
"You are? We were in Louisville last night!"  
  
"We thought about it," Amber smiled, "but I had a class first thing today, so…"  
  
"First year?"  
  
"Sophomore," Amber said.  
  
"Wow, really? You don't look old enough," Andy told her.  
  
Pete kicked him under the table. "Hurley's basically the fucking mom of the band."  
  
"It's okay, I get it all the time," Amber laughed. "I'm twenty in like six months."  
  
"So, are you guys living on campus, or whatever?"  
  
"No, we share a house with two other girls, right down the street, between here and The Basement," Kat said. "They're not back from winter break, yet."  
  
Pete and Andy exchanged looks, and Joe cringed inwardly. Another night of the pair of them fucking the locals while he and Patrick lay in awkward silence on the floor.  
  
"Damn, you guys are lucky - wish this show was right down the street from our place…"  
  
"Do you guys all live together, or something?"  
  
"I don't," Andy said, shaking his head. "I'm just outside Milwaukee. But these three do."  
  
"That's cute, you're like The Monkees."  
  
"Like The Monkees, but with like, a lot more action."  
  
"Speak for yourself," Patrick muttered, his face red.  
  
Amber made a small sound, like a second grader handed a baby rabbit, and exchanged another pointed look with her friend. Joe's stomach suddenly lurched as realisation dawned. He looked at Patrick, feeling his face burning. No. Nononono _no_. This couldn't happen. He couldn't let it happen. He stared at him desperately, trying to catch his eye. Patrick seemed to start to lift his gaze to Joe's, but caught himself and instead picked up a fry and broke it into pieces, dropping it back on the pile and picking up another one.  
  
"You guys are so sweet! My cousin's going to be so jealous. She actually kind of has crush on one of you, so she'd freak out that we met you..."  
  
"Who's the crush on?" Andy laughed.  
  
Amber smiled coyly, and glanced down the table at Joe. "I don't want to say, I feel like that would be mean…"  
  
"You can't say that and not at least hint!" Pete complained. "Let me guess." He flung an arm around Patrick's neck, half choking him. "It's Rickster, right? How can anybody not have a crush on this little cutie?"  
  
Kat burst out in a guffaw of laughter. "Good question, right, Amber?"  
  
"Shut _up_ , Katherine!" She was blushing like a porcelain doll and Joe was getting increasingly annoyed. How dare she be so cute and friendly and obviously into Patrick? It was like Christmas Eve all over again. But she was looking down the table directly at him, smiling, and he was kind of too mad to really be listening but she was saying something about her cousin, and Pete, Andy and Kat were all laughing and Patrick was kind of smiling shyly under his hat, still manually destroying his French fries.  
  
"Oh, shit - well, she's gonna be disappointed, dude!" Pete was laughing, reaching across the table to slap him on the shoulder like he'd made the winning play at the superbowl.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Does he have a girlfriend?" Amber was asking, before seeming to realise he might have the capacity to answer that himself and asking again, "Do you have a girlfriend already?"  
  
Joe stared at her dully. "Why?"  
  
"Dude, weren't you listening?! Her cousin wants your D, little bro!"  
  
Joe wasn't sure he'd been so utterly repelled by the thought of something in his life. He reacted without thinking. "Gross."  
  
Both Amber and Patrick looked at him like he'd said he'd rather fuck her grandpa.  
  
"Well, that's rude, you dick," Patrick huffed, his face instantly red. He turned back to Amber, apologetically touching her sleeve with greasy fingers and said, "I'm so sorry."  
  
"It's, um… it's fine, I guess…" Her face was equally flushed and she looked utterly mortified, but Joe was too incensed by the fact that she was flirting with Patrick, and that he'd taken her side, to care at all about her feelings.  
  
"Anyway, I'm taken," Joe muttered, squeaking the straw in his cup, wanting to tell her he had exactly zero interest in girls anyway, but not daring to.  
  
Patrick shot him a look, but he had that flash in his eye that he usually got right after Pete criticised his writing. "Oh? Since when?"  
  
Joe blinked at him, mouth a little open and not sure what to say. He _felt_ taken, even if he technically wasn't. He thought that was how they both felt. In the end, he said nothing and just turned his attention back to the straw in his drink.  
  
"Anyway, I guess we should go…" Amber said, sliding out of the booth to stand up, Kat following.  
  
"Yeah. I guess we'll catch you guys later."  
  
"We didn't sign your stuff…" Patrick said, looking up at her and patting down his pockets for a pen. _Or maybe just, like, a fucking engagement ring or something._  
  
"It's okay. Maybe we can catch up after the show or something?"  
  
"Sure," he smiled, giving her an awkward wave. "See you tonight."  
  
If it wouldn't have meant climbing over Andy and walking out the same way the girls were headed, Joe would have stormed off.  
  
When Patrick finally picked up an unmolested French fry and nibbled on it, saying, "They seem nice," Joe finally lost his cool.  
  
"Yeah, so nice you had to, like, set up a date with her."  
  
"Date?" he scoffed, looking him like he was nuts. "It's not a date."  
  
"To a teenage girl, it's a date," Andy confirmed, shaking his head in resignation.  
  
"It's not a date!"  
  
"Bro, when you arrange to meet up with someone you're into at a specific place and time, to hang out 'or something', it's a textbook date, kind of…"  
  
"I was just being nice…" he complained. "Maybe if some dick hadn't been so rude to her…"  
  
Joe glared at his cup, irritably tearing cracks in the rim of the lid. "Doesn't it even piss you off, that like, someone just told you their cousin wants to bone your -"  
  
"My what?" Patrick demanded, raising his eyebrows challengingly. "Because, y'know: one day it would be nice to know what the fuck we are now."  
  
"Okay, cool it, girls," Pete cut in, elbowing Patrick in the arm. "We don't need the whole of Columbus to know your dirty little secret, or whatever."  
  
Joe closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, trying his hardest to keep it together and not smack him in the mouth.  
  
"It's not a 'dirty little secret' you asshole," Patrick replied. "I love him, okay? Even if he behaves like a little prick because he's jealous… If it was down to me, he wouldn't have a reason to be jealous and everyone would know. But, y'know, it's not like I get a say in this stuff, so..."  
  
The words hit him directly in the solar plexus, taking his breath away. He looked across at him to find Patrick looking back, waiting for some sort of response or validation - to be told that the feeling was mutual - and it was, up to a point. Joe did love him, more than anything, but right now he felt like a rabbit in headlights and the idea of everyone knowing how he felt left him nauseous and claustrophobic. He pulled up his knees and climbed to his feet on the bench, stepping over Andy's lap.  
  
"Woah - hey, where are you going?" he asked, slapping the back of Joe's calf as he went.  
  
"Van," he shrugged, jumping down heavily.  
  
"Well, _that's_ the way an adult handles his problems…" Pete muttered behind him.  
  
"Joe - "  
  
"Ric, let him go, dude. He's being a fucking brat."  
  
" _No._ Joe - "  
  
"Patrick, leave it, man - Pete's right, just give him a minute to himself."  
  
Joe yanked open the door and walked out before he had time to hear anything else. His heart was throbbing in his throat and he couldn't quite breathe right and he just wanted to be on his own. He crawled into the back of the van and kicked off his boots so he could climb into his sleeping bag, pulling out his discman and the mix CD Patrick had made him for their anniversary.  
  
Patrick's rucksack smelled like his clothes and the bottle of Mountain Dew that had leaked on it a couple of weeks ago, when he rested his head on it and closed his eyes. It was comforting. He fell asleep to 'Wild is the Wind', wishing it was still July, and they could spend their nights curled up right there instead of on strange girls' floors, and everything was normal.  
  
When Patrick opened door of the van, he stood and miserably watched Joe wake and sit up. Joe shivered at the cold air sweeping through, and Patrick clambered in to sit beside him, pulling the door closed and tugging his cap off. He settled on his heels, holding it in his lap despondently and watching his fingers play along the seams in silence.  
  
Frowning, Joe swallowed and said, "I didn't mean to be rude to that girl… It just, like, came out..."  
  
"I know," Patrick shrugged.  
  
"It's not even that I'm mad, dude, I just…" he rubbed his salty eyes, not sure if it was because he'd just woken or because he kind of felt like he'd been crying, even though he hadn't. "I know I did this, and everything, but…"  
  
"You're not mad about today, but you're really mad at me, aren't you?" Patrick asked, watching him. "I mean, y'know, you're trying not to be, but you are and you have been since New Year."  
  
"No, dude," Joe tried, weakly, not even sure it wasn't true. "I'm just… bummed out. I know I did this, and everything, but it still sucks for me, too… We said we'd work on being friends, but then New Year happened… or _didn't_ …"  
  
Patrick rubbed one of his own eyes under his glasses, wearily. "I know I screwed up with that. Time just got away from us, y'know? By the time I realised, you were asleep… But right now I don't know what you want from me, dude. You won't get back together, but you don't even want me to spend time with Pete... you get mad when other people seem into me - which is weird for me, too, by the way… You know how I feel about you, but I don't feel like I get anything from this situation. I have no control over anything, y'know? It's _my life_ , but now I just spend my time bouncing between you and Pete, feeling shitty about us and shitty about his problems that I can't help with… And I don't know what you want me to do."  
  
Miserably, Joe sank back against the reverse of the seats. What was he supposed to say? He knew he wasn't ready to give Patrick what he wanted, but he knew it wasn't fair to keep holding him back, he just didn't think he could stand seeing him move on. One day, he still wanted them to get back together - to make it work - but now wasn't the right time. He still believed that if they got back together before he was ready, Patrick would end up hating him, and they'd never recover. "I can't be your boyfriend right now," he said, his voice coming out croaky.  
  
"And yet, you still tell people you're 'taken', like you are… It's kind of confusing, y'know?"  
  
"I'm _sorry_ , dude, I just didn't… I'm not interested in other people." _Especially not girl-people._  
  
"So, are you taken, or not?" Patrick asked with a nervous laugh.  
  
"I… I mean, like, technically no, but I'm not… I guess I may as well be, basically. It's not like I'm gonna get involved with anyone else. But I can't do _us_ , right now. I don't want to make you unhappy -"  
  
"I'm already unhappy. I don't see what we have left to lose."  
  
"Everything, dude. Just… everything."  
  
Sighing heavily, Patrick moved to slump beside him, shoulder to shoulder, his head resting against Joe's. He picked up one of Joe's hands and turned it over, running his fingertips over his palm and then winding them together. And Joe let him, numbly.  
  
"I wish we'd spent New Year together, y'know?"  
  
Joe choked out a little laugh. "Yeah, dude, me too."  
  
"My grandma has this whole thing about how, like, the people you see in the new year with, are the ones you'll spend the rest of the year with… And I missed it. I fucked it up, and now it's like I can feel this space opening up in front of me or something. And you're on the other side."  
  
"That's just superstition, dude," he replied quietly, because it was, but it also felt like it was true and he didn't like knowing who Patrick had _actually_ spent New Year with.  
  
"You know…" Patrick stopped and cleared his throat, looking up at the roof of the van, blinking rapidly behind his glasses. "Listen, you know I love you, right? You _know_ that?"  
  
"Sometimes," Joe said, and he'd meant it as a joke about his insecurity, but it came out sounding hard and doubtful.  
  
"Well, I do. And whatever you think, I still will - I think pretty much forever. But while we're not together, there are some things I can't get out of easily." He paused, looking over at him, but Joe didn't look back, so he tilted his head to try to catch his eye. "You know there's stuff I need to do, right? For the band? Like we talked about back home. It's super cold right now, and - well, y'know… we can't sleep in the van… I mean, look at this piece of shit Andy calls a 'sleeping bag'!"  
  
Carefully, Joe slipped his hand free and tucked it under his arm, wrapping the other across his chest, too. "You're gonna do it."  
  
"I don't know… I mean, if I have to do this, it seems like a decent opportunity…"  
  
"Decent? Are you fucking kidding, dude?"  
  
"That's not what I meant…"  
  
"Can't we just, like, give them guestlist places and ask for a trade? That girl would probably let us camp out at her place just so she can brag to her cousin!"  
  
Patrick sighed and dropped his head in his hands. "We're second on the bill, we don't even have a guestlist, tonight."  
  
Joe looked at him and swallowed, dreading the answer to the question he had to ask next. "Do you _want_ to do this? Is that why you - ? I mean… I guess we're different, right? You never had a chance to - "  
  
"If those words come out of your mouth, Joe, I swear to God - "  
  
"I'd like... I'd hate it, but… I guess, I can't blame you if it's because - "  
  
"No! God, you're an _idiot_ … It's not because she's a girl and you're not, you total jackass. I don't _want_ this at all! All I want to do is kind of… pay my way, y'know? We had a free ride ever since we started doing this, because we were together. I don't have that excuse anymore. I just… I want to play fair, okay?"  
  
_Yeah, but what about what I want?_ But what Joe wanted was a contradiction in terms, and he knew it. He knew he couldn’t refuse to be in a relationship with Patrick and still ask him to be committed to him. He wasn't an idiot, or an asshole. Not that the knowledge made him feel any better.  
  
"You don't need to do this, we could get a motel," he offered, but it felt more like begging. "I have, like… I have some money, I could -"  
  
"You don't have money for motels, Joe, you have money you need so you can eat."  
  
"I don't care. Fuck food. I'll live on fucking Top ramen, if I have to - I just don't want you to feel like this is… like... _normal_ or something. I don't care what Pete thinks, this is fucked up. You're a good person, you hate this kind of thing - this isn't you, dude, it's fucking Pete putting dumb ideas in your head!"  
  
"Look, you're right, I'm not exactly into it, either, but eventually, I have to man up and do my share, y'know? Think how often they did this for us. You remember that girl Andy slept with, in Iowa, who was just the worst, because you were freaking out about needing a shower? We owe them, and I'm the only one of the two of us who can do it, so if I'm needed to, I will."  
  
"Dude, if you think this isn't as much about putting their dicks as many places as they can, as it is getting us someplace to shower, you're seriously fucking naive."  
  
"You know what? In a lot of cases, yeah, maybe it is, but not always. There are a lot of times when it's just a means to an end. I know, because I actually talk to Pete. Okay? I actually know how he feels."  
  
"But…"  
  
"We're broken up, Joe…" he reminded him, wearily, "and that's not my choice. I'm not asking you to, but if you said right now that you wanted to figure stuff out, I wouldn't even hesitate, y'know? But we both know you're not going to, no matter how hard I wish you would. So, until you're ready to give me another chance, I have stuff I need to do, whether I like it or not. Whether _you_ like it or not. And I really need you not to make me feel worse about it than I already do."  
  
Joe flopped his head back against the seats, closing his eyes and swallowing, trying not to imagine it. "Whatever," he shrugged, defeated. "It's not like I have a right to ask you not to, right?"  
  
They sat in silence for a few moments until Patrick said, "I need to find out when we soundcheck," starting to get to his feet. "See you later."  
  
Joe watched him leave and flinched at the van door slamming shut. He couldn't face everyone else, right now, so he just curled himself back up in his sleeping bag and tried to ignore the nausea in his belly.  
  
\---  
  
There was no room backstage for them to hang out or store their stuff - it was all being hogged by the top two bands - so there was nowhere private to wait. He tried to find him in the venue bar when the doors opened, but by then he was standing in a corner with Pete and the two girls, one hand tucked around his elbow, laughing. He wasn't sure if the girls were technically over dressed or underdressed, but they were dressed up - wearing clothes that looked completely impractical for a punk show they planned to enjoy.  
  
The redhead, Kat, looked over and tipped her drink at him, but he didn't go over to join them. He felt winded. Six months ago, Patrick talking to girls at a show meant nothing. It wasn't girls he was afraid of, it was Pete. He'd all but forgotten that Patrick was even into girls, because he usually showed so little interest in them - or anyone else. Yet, a couple of hours after their conversation he was already taking lessons from Pete. It made him want to curl up in a small, dark space and sob, but instead, all he could do was find a ledge big enough to perch on in a quiet corner by their stuff and try to tell himself it was all an act to get them someplace to stay. It really didn't make him feel any less hurt. Realising that Patrick had the capacity to be attracted to other people was like the day he caught his dad carrying out toothfairy duties. It might always have been true, but he couldn't undo that knowledge and nothing could be the same again. He'd always been afraid that Pete would take what he wanted because that was Pete's superpower, but his naive idea that there was only Patrick for him and him for Patrick, was crushed.  
  
He cast long, sad glances toward the bar from his ledge, hoping that somehow Patrick would line up just right to be able to see him beyond the pillars dividing the venue and catch his eye - that seeing him alone in the shadowy corner would give him second thoughts. But it didn't. He was tucked behind the wall, little more than an arm flicking out as he talked, paying no attention to Joe, whatsoever.  
  
As they went to get their guitars from the pile of cases in the corner, just before the set, he tried to catch his wrist, not even sure why. He'd almost convinced himself to say, _You made your point - if getting back together now will stop this, I'll do it. I'll do whatever you want._ But Patrick pulled himself free, awkwardly, and wouldn't look at him, not even when they got on stage and did their hi-five routine.  
  
The girls stood down the front during the set, the small, pretty one, gazing up at Patrick on the foot-high stage with rapt adoration. It made him feel sick. Did she even know what was happening? If he told her the truth, would she back off? Or would Patrick just be mad that he'd sabotaged everything because he was jealous? He could feel his heart pounding in his ears, drowning out everyone else's instruments. It was all too much. By the end of their last song, he could feel the edges of his vision greying out and he couldn't breathe.  
  
They couldn't clear their gear until the last band had played, so he retreated to the van directly after walking off stage, unable to face anyone. He didn't want to see what happened next, because he was sure he'd never erase it from his eyelids. So, he curled up in a corner not even bothering to wrap himself in his sleeping bag, bleakly enjoying the chill of the van because it gave him something to focus on that wasn't what Patrick might be doing. He kicked viciously at the bag he'd rested his head on, earlier, sending t-shirts and underwear scattering across the floor.  
  
When the door opened at the back of the van almost two hours later, Pete and Andy were both there, Pete holding Patrick's guitar cases, one in each hand.  
  
"There you are," Andy sighed, relieved. "I thought you'd gone AWOL."  
  
Joe just looked at him, grimly. "I need to get my stuff."  
  
"Ric did it," Pete told him, holding out a guitar for him to take. "I'll bring it out."  
  
Joe stood up, unsteady from the time cramped up on the floor, and took both the cases from his hands. "Is he packing up?" he asked. Maybe he should go help, maybe -  
  
"Uh, no," Pete said, and walked away.  
  
"So, like… where is he?" he asked Andy, as he pushed the bass drum case along the cargo base, towards him.  
  
Andy look a long breath and shook his head. "I'm not getting involved."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Look, Joe, he left already, okay? He's gone ahead to the place we're crashing tonight. That's all I'm saying, because I am so fucking done with all of this bullshit."  
  
He flung his hands up, indicating his departure from the conversation and walked back towards the building.  
  
Joe didn't know what to do. He slumped down on the wheel arch and tilted his head against the side of the van, swallowing. _He went through with it. It's actually happening._ The world was spinning out of control and he closed his eyes, tucking his thumb knuckle between his teeth, biting slightly to keep himself from throwing up. Everything was so, so wrong. He felt like he was dreaming, like maybe in a moment the elementary school teacher who made him piss his pants in class would show up and demand to know where his homework was, and then his teeth would fall out and he'd wake up sweating in his bed, in September, with Patrick sleeping next to him. And he'd roll over and tuck his arm around him and go back to sleep, because none of this would be real. Just a nightmare.  
  
He opened his eyes blearily, to the sound of Converse on asphalt, and found Pete looking at him pensively.  
  
"Don't think about it. Trust me. Just don't think about it."  
  
"How?"  
  
"Whatever it takes." He was gone again, replaced by Andy.  
  
"Can you at least try putting shit in some kind of order?" he snapped, handing him his toms.  
  
Reluctantly, Joe got to his feet and took a deep breath of icy winter air, surveying the space around him half-heartedly and trying to remember where they usually put things. He'd done this dozens of times, but he couldn't think straight enough to remember.  
  
"It's Joe, right?"  
  
He turned around to see the girl with firetruck red hair hanging on to one of the van doors. He recognised her from earlier, she was the friend. Silently, he nodded.  
  
"I figured I should check in, seeing as you're sleeping at my house, tonight."  
  
"Okay."  
  
For a minute, she stayed where she was, watching him with a bemused look on her face. "So… you're a talker, huh?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"You sick?" she asked. "You looked kind of like you were gonna puke on stage."  
  
He was, he supposed. He certainly thought he was close to puking from the stress. "Actually, I'm just, like… busy, yeah?" _And apparently, the love of my life is screwing your friend, right now, so…_ The thought almost made him lose his balance and he pressed a palm to the roof to steady himself, wishing she'd go away.  
  
"Well, excuse me," she snorted, stepping out of the way so that Pete could hand him a box of pedals.  
  
"He's in a shitty mood," Pete warned her, walking off. "It's probably better to just leave him alone, kind of."  
  
"I figured," she said, giving Joe a lingering, surveying look. She waited until Pete's footsteps had faded and said, "For the record, I know how you feel. Sucks to be us, buddy."  
  
He stopped ineffectually shoving stuff from one side of the van to the other and turned to look at her, but didn't say anything, afraid she was fishing for a confession.  
  
She gave him a jaded, knowing smirk and shrugged, pushing away from the van door. "You think you're the only one, ever?"  
  
When he next saw her, she was climbing into the front of the van, between Andy and Pete, giving them directions to a house that seemed little more than a few hundred yards away. The streets were paved with grey brick and the houses looked old - older than the ones in Winnetka, anyway. She led them into the entrance hall as if there was nothing weird about it, and he found himself wondering how many other bands had walked through that door on other weekends.  
  
Neither Patrick nor the other girl were in the living room and the light in the kitchen was off. His eyes drifted towards the stairs; there was a faint glow from under one of the doors at the top and he realised he could hear the soft, deep murmur of Patrick's voice. He stood, frozen to the spot and staring up at the door, his heart pounding with a sickly, burning sensation, but it seemed like the bottom had fallen out of his stomach all at once, until Pete wrapped his fingers around his bicep and pulled on it.  
  
"Stop thinking about it," he hissed, looking anxiously at Kat, who was turning on lamps and talking at Andy. "You literally look like your heart broke, it's not fucking subtle."  
  
Joe blinked, slowly, wondering if that was what the feeling in his chest was, and let himself be dragged into the lounge. He couldn't figure out what to do, so he stood in the middle of the room, where Pete left him, chewing the skin on the side of his nails.  
  
He didn't notice Kat staring at him until she spoke, inches from his face.  
  
"Wow, you're either stoned or exhausted. Is that what you were doing all that time? Let me fold out the sofa-bed… one of you can have the other couch."  
  
"He's just had a tough day, right, Joe?" Pete said, with a forced grin.  
  
Joe nodded back, obediently. 'Tough' barely scratched the surface.  
  
After Kat went upstairs, leaving them to decide their sleeping arrangements, he found himself in his sleeping bag, lying on a thin mattress over weak springs. The dip in the bed left him sliding back to back with Pete, listening to Andy's breathing and the traffic on the highway a few streets over.  
  
He had his eyes closed tight, willing himself to sleep, in spite of the adrenaline rushing through his veins. Maybe if he was asleep, he wouldn't hear anything.  
  
Only, he couldn't. It had been after midnight when they got back to the house and he could feel the minutes ticking by. Instead of blocking everything out, he was hyper-aware of every noise, imagining every creak of the house settling was a bed spring. The pictures in his head were upsetting enough - literally a matter of feet away, Patrick was with some girl, and it was Joe sharing a bed with Pete, of all people. No matter how hard he tried to squash it down - counting backwards, reciting rhymes from his childhood hebrew lessons - it was all he could think about, and it was overwhelming.  
  
A single, dry sob shuddered through him, and he clasped a hand over his mouth, desperate for the others not to hear. _I can't do this_.  
  
Beside him, though, Pete lifted his head slightly, looking over his shoulder at Joe, listening, and when Joe's shoulders gave an involuntary shake, he dragged his pillow out from under his head and placed it over his ear, muttering "Fuck."  
  
Joe couldn't stand it. He knew he couldn't lay there without having some kind of meltdown, and that if he did, Pete would hear every second. So, he unzipped his sleeping bag and picked up his sneakers and hoodie from the floor, then scooped up his rucksack and sleeping bag and made for the front door, scrambling for his keys.  
  
The van door was frozen shut and he had to yank it hard to open it. The air inside fogged his breath, but he didn't see that he had any other choice. Being cold was preferable to listening to his world collapsing. He climbed inside, shutting the door behind himself, and tossed his sleeping bag down, to climb into it. He didn't lie down, he just huddled himself against his amp, his hoodie pulled up over his head and his sleeping bag up to his chin, and closed his eyes.  
  
He wanted to cry - really wanted to. It was a strangely visceral feeling, pressing at the base of his throat and his eyelids. But somehow, he couldn't. Each attempt to release the sobs that seemed stuck in his chest felt more like dry, breathless retching and nothing would come out of his eyes, no matter how hard he wiped them with the heel of his hand.  
  
The cold seemed to bore into his bones, until all he could do was shiver and bite down on his teeth to keep them from chattering. Patrick's sleeping bag was still rolled up on the floor, he could borrow it knowing that Patrick wouldn't mind, but he refused himself. He didn't want that familiar scent around him, now. He almost wanted to black every thought of Patrick out, so it couldn't hurt, anymore. He wished from the pit of his stomach that they'd never met.  
  
And yet, when the frozen door handle crunched and cranked the door open, it was still Patrick he wanted to see on the other side of it. Apologetic - distraught, even - wanting to fix things that couldn't be fixed. But it was Pete standing in the road his sleeping bag wrapped around him like a robe. His face looked pale in the streetlights and they gazed at each other for a minute before Pete simply said:  
  
"I fucked up."  
  
Joe frowned a little, but didn't respond.  
  
Pete climbed in, heavily, and dropped down beside him. "I shouldn't have encouraged him. He's too…" he expelled a breath of air in a frustrated huff and thumped the side of his hand, hard, into an amp that Joe didn't even have enough energy to hope was Pete's own. "I thought this was what you both needed, kind of. I thought it'd be good for you both to realise that there's like, a great big world out there. Other people. But I was fucking wrong. This is the grossest thing I've ever witnessed and I fucking _hate it_."  
  
All Joe could do was shiver and close his eyes.  
  
"He's basically a kid," Pete sighed, guiltily, "and I told him it was time he 'grew up'. I feel like the worst person on the fucking planet."  
  
_Why are you telling me this, Pete? Do you seriously think I fucking care how shitty you're feeling?_  
  
Pete fell silent for a minute, and Joe sleepily opened his eyes to find him looking down at him. "You're shaking."  
  
"It's cold," he mumbled back, shrugging. _What do you fucking expect?_  
  
"Shit," Pete muttered, pulling the sleeping bag from around himself and tucking it across them both, instead. He tucked an arm around Joe's shoulders and pulled him to lean against his side, rubbing him vigorously to warm him up. "You're gonna end up a popsicle, little bro. It's like fifteen degrees out."  
  
Joe shrugged again, half-heartedly, but the extra layer and Pete's body heat was already having an effect.  
  
"I'm sorry, yeah?"  
  
He nodded, drowsily, not really caring why. It didn't change anything.  
  
"I just thought that, like, all the pressure he was putting on you was bad for you both. I mean, you said he was smothering you, or whatever. I told him he needed to cool off... I thought a distraction would be good for you - but this isn't... He was saying that like, if he paid for her drinks and walked her home, that it'd be less creepy, kind of. Like it was some weird, fake little date -"  
  
"I don't wanna hear this…" He heard the crack in his own voice, and the wince it elicited from Pete, and wished he'd blocked it out and not said anything. "Dude, I can't fucking…"  
  
"I'm sorry. I mean, _for real_ , Joe, I'm so fucking sorry. I feel like I made this happen and I just thought I was helping, kind of..."  
  
Joe sat himself up, his neck aching. "He had choices."  
  
"But -"  
  
"I can't do this, dude. I can't, like, talk to you about this. Everything's just… _it's over_ , now. I just wish I could, like, sleep and wake up and this never have happened, basically."  
  
Pete nodded. "Yeah, we should do that. We should sleep." He pushed back his opened sleeping bag and reached for Patrick's, shuffling into it without a second thought. "Lay down. We can share mine. Otherwise we'll fucking die out here."  
  
Frankly, Joe didn't really know if that would be the worst thing that would have happened to him, that night.  
  
Even with Pete curled half around him, his arms crossed against his own chest, pressing into Joe's back through his sleeping bag, it was still cold. Pete evidently couldn't switch off, as intermittently he'd say something aloud. Another apology or unnecessary detail that Joe didn't want to hear.  
  
He drifted off into a fitful sleep little more than an hour before Andy opened the door of the van, slung his sleeping bag down beside Pete, and climbed in. They looked at each other, but Andy didn't speak, he just tugged the edge of Pete's sleeping bag and half of one of the old blankets that lined the floor, over himself, then closed his eyes.


	21. Our Lives Are Forever Changed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe saw him first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always to my wonderful, essential betas, [distortedmya](http://archiveofourown.org/users/distortedmya/pseuds/distortedmya) and [heartofthesunrise](http://archiveofourown.org/users/heartofthesunrise/pseuds/heartofthesunrise).
> 
>  
> 
>  **WARNING:** This chapter contains scenes depicting mental health issues, which some readers may find difficult to read.

**The World's Not Waiting (For Joe Trohman to Stop Being a Pussy and Start Going For What He Wants)**  
_Part Twenty-One: Our Lives Are Forever Changed_  
  
_"If you love me at all, don't call."_  
  
  
There was a cobweb between the light fitting in Joe's bedroom and the ceiling. He'd been staring at it for a long time, trying to remember if it had been there before he left for the tour. He thought it probably wasn't, because at that point he would have cared enough to remove it. It seemed to billow a little, even though he couldn't identify any kind of discernible breeze. He wondered if that meant there was a spider lurking in a corner, somewhere, and couldn't even manage to sit up and check. It used to be that he couldn't sleep if he had the faintest idea that there was a bug in the room, terrified that it'd crawl in his mouth or bite him, or some other horror. Right now, all he could think was that even a spider probably wouldn't bother with him, anymore.  
  
They'd been home two days and he hadn't showered, yet. It had started with the idea that he'd just take a nap and wait for everyone to get their shit out of his way, but he'd fallen asleep and when he woke up, it was yesterday. Almost five in the morning. He'd managed to get to the bathroom without bumping into Pete and even Patrick's light was off. Then, he'd come back to bed and curled up on his side, his stomach hurting and his eyes watering, trickling salty tracks across the bridge of his nose and soaking into the pillow. It reminded him of a gas station restroom and orange tiles, somewhere outside Mansfield, the surface cool against his forehead as he hugged himself for some feeble semblance of comfort and the salty droplets soaked into his t-shirt. He'd hidden the evidence under a hoodie and blamed the redness on his contact lenses. Either nobody cared or nobody looked close enough to tell the difference, because he didn't think it was that convincing. Not in context.  
  
His stomach was whining again. Rumbling howls for food he couldn't face and didn't have the energy to prepare. It was all he could do to drag himself into the bathroom when it was necessary, but he'd still wait to the point of aching before he found the strength.  
  
The fact was, he didn't really care about even the most basic complaints his body made, because nothing really mattered, now.  
  
He'd laid in bed all of Tuesday, listening to the others moving around the place, Pete's voice low and monotone, Patrick's higher than usual, like he was on the verge of a primal scream. He kept waiting for it, or the crash of something being hurled across the room, but it hadn't happened, yet.  
  
For as long as he could, he kept his eyes open, because every time he closed them, the images came back, and he couldn't deal with it. The thought of Patrick touching her made his skin crawl and his stomach tie in knots that threatened to make him throw up whatever his empty belly could muster. The last time he could remember eating was early Monday morning, Andy sitting in front of him, cross-legged, and watching until he was satisfied that the egg muffin and the hash brown were gone. The grease on his fingers made him want to puke on its own, but before then, the last time he ate an actual meal was at Wendy's on Friday, with not much but a couple of snacks in between to tide him over, in the two days between, and Andy was done with offering.  
  
_You're gonna fucking eat, or you're gonna fucking bleed, so pick one!_  
  
He hadn't even picked - he knew Andy wouldn't hurt him, even if he wanted to - he'd just let him shove the bag into his hands and did what he was told. If someone else was making decisions for him at least he didn't have to think about it. All his brain could manage at the moment was reasons to quit the band and never have to live through another night like the two that past weekend.  
  
He could still hear the crack in Patrick's voice right before he'd stopped singing _Switchblades_ and let Pete handle the remaining choruses. The lights had glistened on his lashes, and he remembered not being sure if the shine was sweat or something else.  
  
Or the moment when he'd walked from the dressing room to the corridor outside, on Sunday night, and saw Patrick holding Pete's cell and a scrap of paper with the word 'Amber' and a phone number on it. He'd stuffed it back in his pocket so quickly that there was no doubt that he was trying to hide it. It was the first time their eyes had met since they caught each other in the side mirror of the van as Patrick returned from saying goodbye to her. Hugging her as she stood at the door in rainbow printed pyjama pants and one of their shirts, which he assumed was part of the trade off, now.  
  
_I slept with someone in Fall Out Boy and all I got was this stupid t-shirt._  
  
He'd looked like a deer in headlights, ironically, and opened his mouth to speak and his fingers to catch Joe's arm, but he hadn't allowed him to do either. Patrick had called after him, begging him to talk, telling him he didn't understand, like he was some kind of idiot. But it was all white noise to Joe, just like everything else. It was like being in a bubble, he felt one step outside of everyone else, like everything that happened was a part of a first person shooter game without any way to defend himself.  
  
There was a fine balance between feeling nothing and feeling everything, and feeling nothing but the physical gnawing in his belly was preferable.  
  
He was supposed to be back in college today. The knowledge sat with him like a useless fact - duck quacks don't echo or dogs can't look up - rather than an obligation he should be finding the impetus to meet. What was the point? He was failing in college just like he was failing everywhere else, there was no point trying to please his parents, because it had already gone too far. It was unsalvageable.  
  
Patrick was back at work. He'd heard him leaving that morning. He'd thought he'd heard him crying, last night, too, but written it off as his mind playing tricks on him in the dark. Patrick had shown him how much he cared about him and saving their relationship when he fucked a stranger.  
  
He didn't really even know what time it was from hour to hour. It was dark when he woke up and dark when he went to sleep, mostly. Sometimes, he'd open his eyes in daylight when a noise or a voice disturbed, him, but he'd put himself back to sleep as soon as he recognised it.  
  
He was still lying there, studying his cobweb, when Patrick came home. His keychain had so many keys from work on it that he sounded like a jailer every time he opened the door. Tonight, he scuffed around in the hall and then stopped outside Joe's room, close enough that Joe could see the shadow of his sneakers through the crack at the bottom of the door.  
  
Joe could almost feel him listening.  
  
He held his breath.  
  
"Did you eat today?"  
  
No preamble, no small talk, just the same sound in his voice as the day they'd sat on a bench in a cemetery, in the snow.  
  
"I can get you something, y'know?" he tried again. "If… I mean, I can leave it here and - and go back in my room, so you won't even need to see me…" He waited, longer than Joe expected him to, and then again. "Joe? Dude, please… I just wanna know you're okay."  
  
Well, that was a dead loss, because he wasn't.  
  
There was silence for a few moments more, then the sound of the floorboards creaking as he walked towards the kitchen. Then the fridge opening and the clattering of cutlery.  
  
A few minutes later, there was the dull clunk of a plate on wood, just outside.  
  
"I made you a sandwich, okay? It's there, if you want it."  
  
He didn't.  
  
He wanted to be left alone, that was all. To just stare at his cobweb until it didn't feel like the air had been crushed out of him, anymore.  
  
When he couldn't wait any longer, he slithered off the bed because it was easier that sitting up first. Across the hall, he could hear some old 80s band playing from Patrick's room. Some guy with a high voice that Patrick had once tried to convince him he should listen to, because all their songs were about dudes.  
  
The sandwich was still there, the corners curled, sitting next to a glass of milk. The waste and the untidiness of it would have pissed him off, a week ago; he might have felt bad or moved by the kindness. But all he felt now was vague irritation at what he thought was an attempt to appease him. Like a fucking sandwich and a glass of milk would do it.  
  
He didn't turn on the light in the bathroom. The ping of the pull cord and the extractor fan were fine when the others were fast asleep, but they'd alert Patrick to his presence while he was up. There was enough light from the streets through the tiny window to make sure he could see what he was doing. Besides, if there was no real light, he couldn't see himself in the mirror. He hadn't shaved in days, he could feel the scratchiness turning softer as each one went by. He'd never tried growing a beard before, and he didn't want to know what it looked like.  
  
By the time he returned to his room, he'd forgotten about the plate and the glass, which must have been how he kicked the milk against the door frame, shattering the glass and spilling its contents all over the floor.  
  
Usually, he'd have yelled in frustration, or swore, but in that moment all he could do was fist his hands in his hair and curl his elbows around himself. Why was this happening to him? Why did literally everything he touched turn to shit? He always tried to do what was best for everyone else, but all he asked for was time - time to figure himself out, time to himself, time to sleep, and it was just too much to ask, wasn't it?  
  
He dragged his hands down his face, pressing his fingers to his eyelids, trying to stop the wetness he could feel seeping under them.  
  
And then the music from Patrick's room was louder and there was yellow light all around him, and he just wanted to disappear. Or run away. Or just anything other than standing here, in pyjamas he'd worn for days, crying over spilt milk.  
  
"You okay?" Patrick was asking. "What ha - oh."  
  
He couldn’t even think what he should do. Where he should begin.  
  
"I'm sorry… that was… _such_ a stupid place to leave it… I'm such an idiot. Let me -"  
  
He edged past to get to the kitchen, brushing Joe's back and making him flinch. He was still standing there when Patrick came back with a dustpan and a dishcloth, watching milk drip between the floorboards and realising numbly that the stench of rotting milk was going to be there forever, right outside his door. Because why not? Why not do this to him, too?  
  
And Patrick was kneeling at his feet, picking up glass and dropping it into the dustpan, mopping up the liquid with his other hand, mumbling apologies and fussing and Joe wanted to just tell him to shut up. To just _stop_. To leave him alone, because he couldn’t even look at him. But all he did was to sink his forehead against the door frame and close his eyes, waiting for it to be over.  
  
When he'd gathered all the pieces he could see, Patrick climbed to his feet and returned to the kitchen, to rinse the cloth and remove the now sodden sandwich. And Joe took his opportunity to leave, moving to step into his bedroom and placing his foot down on a tiny shard that Patrick had missed. He choked a whimper and a hiss, and reached down to pull it from his sole.  
  
"Shit! I'm so sorry - are you alright? Let me get you some tissue or something…"  
  
Patrick hurried into the bathroom and Joe tossed the shard on to the floor and limped into his room, shutting the door and sliding the bolt across before Patrick could get close. He sank down on the corner of his bed and lifted his foot to see the dime-sized spot of red on the fabric, tugged off his sock to look more closely - there was barely anything there, just a tiny nick, oozing slowly. He dabbed at it with a tissue from the box beside the bed and then just sat there, shoulders hanging and his eyes closed.  
  
He could still hear Patrick cleaning up outside, see the shuffling outside of the door. A few moments later, a bandaid was slipped through the gap, but Patrick didn't say anything. The light went off and the music went quiet. Joe crawled back into bed and curled himself under the covers, forcing himself to sleep again, so he didn't have to deal with anything anymore.  
  
He took a shower, the next day, when the others were out. He didn't shave, he just brushed his teeth, not looking at the front of the medicine cabinet, half-slumped against the wall. Then, he made himself two slices of toast and took them back to his room, managing to nibble his way through three-quarters of one, before his stomach started to cramp and he set the rest on the floor. When he tried to eat one of the frozen meals he'd bought before the tour, later on, it made him want to gag.  
  
As the days went on the incapacitating pain began to sink into a broader, simmering bleakness punctuated by little fits of despair. He slept less and stared at his ceiling more, reliving all their memories. The happy ones were the worst - they hurt like little heart attacks and exhausted him - but he couldn't push them down enough to forget. He was starting to run out of food, even on barely a meal every couple of days, he was going to have to leave the apartment soon, but the idea made him nauseous to the point where he couldn't stomach anything, anyway.  
  
Pete caught sight of him leaving the bathroom, one afternoon, standing in the kitchen eating cereal.  
  
"Dude…" he started quickly, a drop of milk spilling down his lip in his hurry to speak, which he mopped up with his sleeve, "you got a minute?"  
  
He'd tried to respond, "Not now," but he hadn't spoken to anyone in a week, and all that came out was a croak. He shut the door quickly and turned on his stereo so he couldn't hear Pete trying to hold the conversation through the door.  
  
Most days, he'd hear Patrick come in from work and walk from room to room, then wait outside his door until he invariably tried to coax him out. His voice always started out breezy and light, like he was pretending he didn't know he wasn't going to get a response, and then it'd turn needy and small, trying to say anything to get him to want to open the door. Joe didn't try to block Patrick's voice out, like he had Pete's, because he didn't want to give a reaction. He didn't want Patrick to know he was listening. And eventually, Patrick would finish with a soft, 'Okay' and his bedroom door would close and the music would come on - songs like smoke signals, messages for Joe to decipher.  
  
When his mom called, he ignored the phone's grating bleeps and let it go to voicemail, which he never returned because talking to her would probably mean telling her. He didn't want her to know that he couldn’t cope and wasn't eating properly or that his relationship with the one person who made any of it worthwhile was over - partly because he couldn’t bear to worry her and partly because if she thought everything was alright, maybe in some parallel universe it was. In truth, he would gladly have cried into her hand-woven sweater for hours.  
  
She called on the apartment line, one night. Patrick answered. He'd taken to spending all his time in the living room or kitchen, even when no one else was home, like he was waiting for Joe to come out of his room and didn't want to risk missing it. Joe heard it ring, and then Patrick's soft taps at his bedroom door.  
  
"Joe? Your mom's calling."  
  
He didn't respond. Maybe Patrick would assume he was asleep or couldn't hear him.  
  
"Joe? _Joe_? It's your mom…."  
  
There was silence for a few moments, then Patrick's voice, lowered and clearly speaking into the handset, "Cathie, I'm sorry, I think he's asleep... No, I'm sorry, the door's locked." There was a longer pause. "I… kind of… don’t sleep in there right now. Maybe you should speak with Joe - Oh. Sorry… yeah, of course, that was a dumb thing to say…" Patrick's voice was growing strained, he could hear it in the breathlessness and the shake of his apology. "Me? I'm… I'm, uh… Not awesome. Can I maybe take a messa- I just. I can't answer that right now. I'm sorry, it's kind of personal and I think he'd be upset if I said anything… "  
  
Joe closed his eyes tight against the acid rising in his throat.  
  
From beyond the door, he could hear the slight crack in Patrick's voice as he said, "I really think you need to talk to Joe about it, y'know? I'll ask him to call you when I see him. I'm sorry. Bye - I will - bye." There was a sharp beep of the line being terminated, and then a heavy, miserable sigh, followed by a slight rattle of his bedroom door, as though a hand had been rested against it and then pulled away.  
  
Joe curled himself almost into a foetal position and went to sleep.  
  
He woke up at 4am to two messages: one from his mom, a text asking him to call her; the other on a scrap of old envelope, slipped under his door, with Patrick’s haphazard scrawl across it.  
  
_Your mom called. She's worried about you. Please call her back._  
  
At the bottom, wrapped in lopsided brackets, was the simple addendum, _I'm worried about you, too._  
  
There was a painful clench in his chest and for a second it felt like his throat was closing up. Maybe Patrick should have worried about him more before letting Pete pimp him out for a couch to sleep on. Maybe what Patrick was feeling was guilt. Maybe Patrick had no right to act like he was the victim, as if Joe shutting himself away because he couldn’t deal with any of it but especially Patrick, was worse than what he'd done.  
  
He balled up the paper in his hand and tossed it at the waste basket. _Kind of too late, now_.  
  
When he stepped out into the hall to get some water, the TV was still on, its light flickering in the dark. A little spark of irritation flared and he strode into the living room to switch it off.  
  
"Joe? You're up. What time is it?" Patrick’s voice asked sleepily from the corner of the couch behind him.  
  
Joe jumped. He hadn't realised anyone was there or he wouldn't even have walked into the room, but now he was stuck to the spot as he watched him rub his face and scramble to sit up. He wanted to walk away, but he couldn't. There was still a part of him that hoped, deep down, that Patrick would say the right thing and it would all magically fix itself, and another that wanted to hurt him. Just to make him feel as awful and empty as Joe did.  
  
"I waited up to make sure you got your mom's message," he started, getting up off the couch and carefully stepping closer, like he might spook him. "She's worried. She said you haven't been taking her calls."  
  
He shrugged. What was he supposed to say? It was true.  
  
"You should call her back… even if you're mad at me, she just wants to know you're okay, y'know?"  
  
Joe huffed and rubbed his eye with his wrist, turning to leave. Patrick was the only person who could use his own mother against him, he didn't need this, right now.  
  
"Joe, wait…" He reached out to catch him, but stopped short of making contact. His breathing was short and his hand slapped against his leg feebly as he withdrew it. "At least tell me you're okay…? Please? Y'know, she's not the only person who cares about you… I mean, if you think I that I didn't notice you won't eat and you're skipping classes, you're wrong."  
  
Joe looked at him, standing there in pyjama pants and a woollen sweater, his glasses missing and his fine hair sticking up on one side, but couldn't meet his eye. The blue light from the TV cast shadows on his face, making him appear hollow and wild. He looked pathetic and Joe didn't know what to say to him. He didn't have the energy to hate him for it, although he felt like he should. He just felt gross, like their whole relationship - or the memory of it - was sullied and by extension, so was he. He'd thought he knew Patrick so well - better than anyone else, better than Pete - and he'd been wrong. Maybe he was an idiot for ever entertaining the idea that Patrick really felt for him the way he felt for Patrick. After all, he got everything else wrong.  
  
He closed his eyes for a moment and took a shaky breath. He thought about leaving without answering, but Patrick was half-blocking his only escape route and he was afraid of touching him, in case it hurt.  
  
What came out of his mouth was a small and unconvincing, "I'm not…"  
  
"You're not? Not what - okay? Not wrong? I -"  
  
"Any of it. I'm not anything." He half-wished he wasn't anything, anymore. That he could disappear into some parallel universe, where it was just him, alone, with nothingness.  
  
"You are to me," Patrick countered. "I miss you. And I'm worried about you - it scares me to see you like this and I just want to try to be normal again, y'know? I want to go back to the way things were, when neither of us _felt_ like this… Please, just tell me how to make things better..."  
  
The fact was, this was truly the lowest Joe had ever felt, and he didn't know how to make it better, never mind what Patrick could contribute, anymore. The damage was already done, he'd already betrayed what they had. What else was there? Nothing could ever put that right.  
  
"Joe, please, I don't - don't block me out, this isn't fair…"  
  
_Oh, fuck you. I mean, that's what people get to do now, right?_ He said nothing, but gave him a fixed, impassive look, hoping he'd realise that Joe really, _really_ wanted to be left alone and right now, pushing the issue wasn't helping.  
  
Patrick seemed almost to recoil. His face was somehow pale and flushed at the same time. It reminded him of early mornings at his parents' house, when Patrick first started staying regularly, when they'd been working through things hesitantly but hopefully, testing each other's boundaries and figuring out what felt right.  
  
There was a deep, hollow feeling in Joe's stomach that told him things had changed, though. This clumsy, honest, tender little thing they'd had was gone. Patrick could never be the same person to him again, because he'd never believed the Patrick he'd idolised for two years was capable of it. Maybe that Patrick was never real, and he was just something Joe had invented because that's what he wanted to believe - the sweet, loyal, caring boy that he'd committed his whole future to may just have been a figment of his imagination.  
  
Patrick started towards him again, a hand outstretched, and Joe jerked away, reflexively, closing his eyes to steady himself. It seemed to shock Patrick into stillness for a moment, until he softly begged, "Bambi, _please_ \- don't push me away, I love you, I need to -"  
  
Joe's eyes snapped open, his heart lurching, and instantly locked with Patrick's, a pang of hurt striking him in the belly. "Don't. You don't get to call me fucking pet names anymore."  
  
"Joe, please, I just want -"  
  
"I'm done with you, okay?" He couldn't even look at him. "You can't make some shitty excuse and just like, assume you can fix this, like every time you ignored me so you could hang out with Pete and I was stupid enough to believe it. I just can't listen to it anymore."  
  
Patrick opened his mouth as if to argue, but changed his mind. Instead, he swallowed, his eyes casting around the room as if searching for something to prompt an appropriate response. In the end, he just nodded and walked out, his head bowed. Joe flinched at the sound of Patrick's door slamming shut.  
  
For several moments, he stood where he was, trying not to let the words get to him. He wasn't sure if Patrick really believed that, or if he was just trying to win him round so he didn't have to feel so bad about what he'd done, but it made him want to curl up on the floor where he was and cry. Instead, he turned off the TV and dragged himself to the kitchen for his glass of water. On his way back down the hall, he was sure he could hear a pillow being punched repeatedly. He fell asleep to the muffled sound of _When Doves Cry_ from across the hall.  
  
He woke up again around 8am, desperate for the bathroom. Patrick would be getting ready to leave for work, Pete had probably just got in. He could hear their voices, probably in the kitchen doorway - muffled but still audible. He got as far as opening the door a crack to check if they were in line of sight of the hall and could see Pete propped against one side of the frame, Patrick against the other inches apart.  
  
"...you don't know how hard the kid took it, kind of. He was - " Pete's voice hesitated and he cleared his throat uncomfortably, "- I mean, _I found it_ kind of upsetting, so just, like… imagine how he felt."  
  
At least he hadn't flat out told Patrick he'd overheard Joe's wretched, dry sobbing and humiliated him even worse. It was kind of reassuring to hear someone putting his side across, because he was pretty sure Patrick hadn't even considered how any of this truly affected him.  
  
There were several long moments of silence, and Joe was just about to pull at the door to duck across the hall, when Pete's voice came again, a sad, sympathetic sigh.  
  
"C'mere."  
  
He risked peering through the crack, somehow still possessively guarded against Pete's overtures. Pete was holding out his arms to invite Patrick to snuggle into his shoulder, but Patrick shook his head and tucked his arms around himself, instead. He wasn't sure if he could really see his shoulders shaking or if he'd just seen what he wanted to. There was a sort of vindictive satisfaction in the idea that this was hurting him, too.  
  
"I wish I'd never fucking said anything about it," Pete remarked to apparent silence, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I only suggested it because I thought you wanted things to change… You kind of spent the last month making a fool of yourself, dude: following him around, throwing yourself at him, basically begging… even though you could see it was stressing him out and he didn't want it. I just thought… It's time to get over it, yeah?"  
  
"I can't." Patrick's voice sounded unmistakably choked, now, and a lump pushed at Joe's throat, but it wasn't empathy. It was more like disbelief that he thought he was the one with a right to be upset, like it was Patrick who was expected to be grateful for the opportunity to listen to the person he loved hooking up with a stranger.  
  
"I hate to break it to you, man, but you're gonna have to learn, 'cause I don't think there's a whole lot of chance of him taking you back, now..."  
  
Part of Joe wanted to intervene, to tell Pete to go fuck himself, because he knew nothing, just because he didn't want Pete to be right about anything to do with their relationship. But the fact was, he was right. Joe had offered him an alternative and Patrick had refused. He'd refused, and he'd chosen to do it, no matter how hard he tried to frame it as some kind of fucking duty. Both Pete and Andy had done it before, Pete wasn't even dating anyone right now - if they really were that desperate, he'd have done it again. Patrick hadn't _needed_ to do it. At least, not for their benefit.  
  
Joe didn't want to hear any more. He pushed the door closed, handle down, and then reopened it as if he hadn't been listening, walking the two paces across the hall and shutting himself in the bathroom quickly.  
  
When he got up, next, the apartment was silent. He opened his door to get a fresh drink and heard a soft clinking against wood. When he saw it, his heart faltered.  
  
Patrick's gold pendant glinted in the light, swinging from the door handle.  
  
This was it, then. The white flag to say that he had accepted that they weren't going to fix this. Patrick had finally given up. Which meant this was truly the end. However angry he was with Patrick, no matter how badly it hurt to think of him with someone else, he hadn't stopped loving him and it felt like his belly had been cut and his insides had fallen out. It was the same kind of wound - horrifying and terminal.  
  
Emotionally, he felt like he should cry - like now would be the appropriate time to unleash all the hurt and sorrow and regret he felt about everything getting this far. If only he'd been better, if he hadn't broken things off, if he'd done the right thing all that time ago and refused to bow to the pressure to date him to begin with, then maybe he wouldn't feel like this. But he couldn't cry, there was just nothing there but a swelling pressure in his chest, pushing at the base of his throat, taking up all the room he had for air.  
  
The good memories were filtered through the bad, half-doubted and skewed, but still precious, and there wouldn't be any more. His head felt noisy. Full of mistakes and accusations and the way it used to feel to be with him, to wake up in the mornings with Patrick squished against him in the twin bed back home.  
  
The urge rushed through him in a wave: home. He needed to go home.  
  
He didn't even shower, he just pulled on outdoor clothes for the first time since they'd got back from tour, and stuffed a probably-clean t-shirt and some underwear in his rucksack.  
  
He didn't write a note or take the chain, he just left.  
  
It was a couple of months since he'd been home. Before it all happened. Driving through Winnetka was strangely comforting. He'd never felt connected to the place, growing up, but it was familiar and it hadn't changed while everything else did.  
  
The sight of his mom's car on the drive almost made him weep with relief, he'd started to feel paranoid that maybe today was one of her workshops, that he'd get home and the house would be empty.  
  
He was fumbling with his keys on the stoop when the door opened in front of him, and she was there, wearing one of her vividly bright, handmade sweaters, beaming to see him home. But her smile fell and she clasped both hands over her mouth in horror when she saw the state he was in.  
  
"Oh, God - Joseph!"  
  
He looked at her, trying to find the right thing to say, but "Mom, I -" was all he could manage before he crumpled into tears. He dropped his bag on the hall floor and sank into her arms as she gathered him up, clinging to the wool like he used to when he was small, sobbing until he couldn't breathe.  
  
"Oh, sweetheart," she said, rubbing his back and stroking his hair. "I knew something was wrong - I knew it. I could feel it." She let him cry for a few moments, then gently eased herself free to look at him. "Come here, tell me what happened."  
  
She guided him into the living room and sat them both down on the couch, slouched against the cushions so he could rest his head on her shoulder, arms tucked around him. She didn't even tell him off for putting his shoes on the seats.  
  
"What happened, Joey, tell me."  
  
But he couldn't. He could barely breathe, let alone speak, and he tried to smother his sobs in her shoulder, because he was supposed to be a big boy, now, and crying in his mom's sweater was embarrassing even when it was just the two of them there.  
  
She didn't push the issue, she just cuddled him and stroked his hair until he calmed enough that she could push him away enough to look into his face. "What's so wrong?"  
  
He wiped his nose on his sleeve and tried to catch his breath enough to speak. "It's everything, Mom. I messed it all up and now I've lost it all and I can't, like, _deal_ with everything anymore. I can't do it. I just… I want to sleep and never wake up again so I don't have to."  
  
He could feel the hitch in her breath and her arms tightened around him, protectively. "Don't say that, Joe, please don't say that."  
  
"I don't mean like… I just…" He _didn't_ mean that, but he didn't know how to do this, anymore. He didn't know where to go from here or how to find the strength to do it.  
  
"Did you and Patrick break up? Is that why you're so upset?"  
  
A gasp of a sob slipped out of him and he nodded, squeezing his eyes closed. It was so disturbing to hear her say it, it made it real, and he didn't want it to be. He wanted to wake up and find it was a nightmare.  
  
"Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry…" she said, tightening her arms around him and kissing his hair. "Tell me what happened."  
  
Where was he supposed to begin? "It was everything, Mom. I didn't have time to do college and - and work, and the band, and… He was getting bored and I knew it wasn't the same anymore, so I thought, like - I thought things would be easier for him if we weren't together…"  
  
"So, _you_ broke up with Patrick?"  
  
"I didn't want him to end up hating me, Mom, I thought -"  
  
"Sweetheart, that young man adores you…"  
  
"No, he doesn't."  
  
"That's nonsense. I spoke with him, yesterday, he sounded just as devastated as you do, right now."  
  
"Then why did he -?" He cut himself off. How could he tell his mom that his boyfriend - ex-boyfriend - had voluntarily slept with a girl for favours? He still found it awkward to talk to his mom about intimate things like this, anyway, even if he was an adult and she knew it happened. Besides, she'd trusted Patrick. She loved him like one of her own. She'd be appalled.  
  
"Why did he what?"  
  
He cleared his throat and wiped his nose on his sleeve again, kicking off his sneakers and pulling up his knees. "It doesn't matter. It's too late, anyway."  
  
"Evidently it does matter - I don't think I've seen you this upset in ten years."  
  
"It's complicated, Mom… Like, tour stuff - you won't understand."  
  
"Try me."  
  
He huffed a little and tried to explain without giving her the details he knew she'd find the hardest to accept. "It was… there was this girl, and he - I mean, it was really cold, and… sometimes people let us sleep at their houses, basically… But stuff happened and I didn't wanna be around when it did, but I had nowhere else to go…" Another sob almost slipped out at the memory and he covered his mouth with his sleeve pulled over his hand, trying to smother any others. "So, I slept in the van with Pete, but Pete just kept telling me all this crap about how he basically convinced him to do it, but that's bullshit, because I _told him_ we could go somewhere else, I even said I'd pay, and Patrick didn't want to. He wanted to do it, so he did, and fuck what I thought, basically…"  
  
"Patrick? _Patrick_ did? Darling, are you sure?"  
  
He folded his arms over his knees, and rested his head on them, nodding. It hurt so much to tell her, to relive the devastation he'd felt, sitting in the van, listening to Pete's 'helpful' commentary, freezing cold and exhausted, and heartbroken.  
  
For a moment, his mom sat still, as if processing the information. Finally, she asked, "Was this the real reason you broke up?"  
  
"No," Joe said, pressing his sleeve to his mouth. "We broke up like, two months ago."  
  
"Two months?! Why didn't you tell me? Sweetheart -"  
  
"Because you love him, Mom! I didn't want you to know and be like, disappointed in me, because he was like, the only good thing in my life and I couldn't even…"  
  
"How could I be disappointed in you? You're my baby boy, Joe, even if you're an adult, now. All I want is for you to be happy."  
  
"Well, I'm not! I'm not and I don't know how to be, anymore. I'm failing my course, and it was taking up all my time, no matter how hard I tried, Mom, and Patrick spent a bunch of time with Pete because I was either working or studying and… It was all just… it was crushing me! I couldn't do it all, even though I thought I could, and I didn't want to let you down or for Patrick get sick of me… I just thought if I had time, if I could get through this year, then eventually we might be able to work things out. He made me promise we'd talk about getting back together around his birthday, but then he went and did this, basically, even though I asked him not to.  
  
"So, no, I don't think he loves me, anymore, because if he did he wouldn't have done this and I just… I can't be around him, right now. You know he's acting like _I_ hurt him?"  
  
"You don't think it might have hurt him a little that you broke up with him?"  
  
"No - I mean, it _did_ , but we talked about it, he understood…"  
  
She sighed sadly and rubbed his hand, still resting on his own elbow.  
  
"I wish you'd told me. Your father and I thought you were doing great - we thought you'd be coming to us asking for money and you haven't once…"  
  
"I was working… you already pay my rent."  
  
"Maybe we should have given you an allowance, too… I feel terrible. If you were away at college we would have done, but we thought you wanted to be independent. I'm so sorry, sweetheart."  
  
The fact she thought it was her fault made him want to cry again. Why had he ever left home? His parents were so good to him… Maybe if Patrick's mom had been as supportive they'd both still be living at home, still happy, still together. It made him irrationally angry that his own mom was throwing herself under the bus for the downward spiral instigated by Patricia's bad decisions. "It's not your fault, Mom."  
  
"Maybe, maybe not. But my sweet, loving little boy has been hurt and it needn't have happened, so I'm going to reserve the right to feel a mother's guilt for not protecting you better."  
  
He tried for a smile, but his lips tugged down a little at the corners and it felt like it took more energy than he really had to spare.  
  
"Listen, I want you to go and take a shower. All those clothes you didn't have space for are in your room, put something fresh on and I'll get you something to eat before your father brings Sam home."  
  
"I'm kind of not really hungry…"  
  
"Well, that's too bad. You must've lost ten pounds since you were last here and you didn't have ten to spare even then. So, you'll be eating something if it kills both of us."  
  
"You sound like Andy…"  
  
"Good. That means there's someone looking out for you when I can't."  
  
It took a lot of effort to shower, but he brushed his teeth and borrowed his dad's electric shaver to fix the few days' growth he'd acquired since he last got sick of the itchiness. By the time he got back downstairs, he felt fractionally more human, and he managed to sit on the couch and eat half a grilled cheese sandwich without throwing up.  
  
His dad finally walked in with Sam, still in his baseball uniform, just around dinner time. He stopped in the doorway and gave a deep, theatrical groan.  
  
"Oh no - he's back! I thought this one was done with… What is it, laundry or poverty?"  
  
Before Joe could answer, his mom stepped out of the kitchen and dragged his father away. Instead, Sam peeked into the room. He'd grown a lot in the last couple of months, and Joe suddenly realised how long it had been since he saw him. He felt like a shitty big brother. He'd even fucked that up.  
  
"Hey," Sam shrugged, kicking off his shoes. "Didn't know you were coming round."  
  
"Me either," Joe told him, trying for another smile. It must have been a weak attempt, because Sam frowned in response.  
  
"What's the matter?"  
  
Joe picked at the tiny hole in the seam of his old pyjamas and decided to tell him the truth. Sam was growing up, maybe he wouldn't turn it into a mean rhyme, anymore. "Me and Patrick kind of broke up, dude." He tried to make it sound light, like it wasn't the single worst thing that had ever happened to him, but even he could hear the shake in his own voice.  
  
Sam's face fell. "Oh. That sucks. Are you coming back to live here again?"  
  
"I don't know… Maybe just for tonight." He hadn't really thought that far ahead.  
  
This seemed to make sense to his thirteen year old mind, though. He nodded and said, "Okay," then disappeared upstairs, only to be replaced in the doorway by their father.  
  
He stood there for a moment and gave a sorry sigh, then made his way over to the couch and dropped himself down to sit beside him. Heavily, he patted Joe's knee with a sympathetic hand.  
  
"Your mother told me what happened."  
  
Joe just nodded awkwardly, swallowing the urge to cry again. Somehow, his parents' loving kindness made it worse.  
  
"It's a shame. He's a good kid, you seemed happy."  
  
"I was…"  
  
His father folded his fingers across his belly and frowned, looking uncannily like Sam. "Is it really unsalvageable? Do you need me to have a conversation with him, man-to-man?"  
  
"No, Dad," Joe snorted, shaking his head, the thought of his father trying to talk to his ex about their relationship utterly cringe-inducing.  
  
"Well, I feel like a pretty useless heart doctor if I can't mend yours. Why'd you go and get it _broken_? I could have just given you a stent if you'd needed that!"  
  
The lump in Joe's throat pushed harder and he gave a small, wet snort of a laugh and rubbed his eye with his wrist. He shifted to lean his head on his dad's shoulder, feeling him reach around him and clap at his arm comfortingly. "Thanks."  
  
"I'm sorry, Boy," he said. "But I'm glad you're home, at least you have your mother here. She's better at this than I am."  
  
Joe didn't tell him that, in some ways, a hug from his dad meant more than a hug from anyone else.  
  
It was a quiet evening. Eventually, his dad moved over to his favourite easy chair and his mum took up his station, with Sam on his other side, his socked feet pressed against Joe's leg and a candy bar he'd dug out of his stash and given to Joe sitting on the table in front of them, saved for later because he still didn't feel much like eating. His mom had been trying hard enough - she cooked his favourite meal for dinner and he forced himself to eat some of it, just to please her, but it made him feel vaguely queasy all night.  
  
When he went to bed, he stood with his back pressed to the door, looking around. Most of his stuff was in his room back at the apartment, but there was enough there to remind him of how it had been a few months ago. He could still picture the things that had happened there - Patrick sitting on the bed with his bag of magazines, begging for a chance, or curled into a mortified ball under the comforter because his mom had walked in on them. Even the bolt on his door reminded him of that time - of turning seventeen and feeling like everything in the world was perfect, that the only thing that could fuck it up was Pete From Racetraitor.  
  
He fell asleep with his forehead pressed close to the coolness of the wall, small damp patches on the pillow under his cheek. And he dreamed of Patrick, over and over, waking up in the darkness and wondering where he was, then falling back to sleep and dreaming it all over again: Patrick coming to the door holding Pete's phone, and saying, "Ask her. Ask her what happened." But every time he took the phone from his hand, he woke again.  
  
When he woke to daylight, at last, his heart seemed to be frozen in a clench and the memory of his dream wouldn't go away - a reminder of how desperately he wished it wasn't true. He realised, dully, that he could hear the house phone ringing, then Sam's footsteps running down the stairs to the table at the bottom. He wasn't exactly a soft spoken kid, and in the peace and quiet of a Saturday morning he could hear everything he said.  
  
"Hello?" There was a moment of silence, then. "Why?" Another long pause and then their mother's voice, less clear than Sam's but still audible. "It's Patrick, Mom."  
  
"Give me the phone. Patrick? Oh - Patrick, sweetheart, calm down. Calm down. He's here and he's fine… well, not really fine, but he's here."  
  
Where else would he fucking be? All of his friends were Patrick's. Except the guys from the toy store.  
  
"Honey, I know, he told me. No, no - shh, no, I'm not mad at you. I'm just very sorry things turned out so badly for you both." She paused, then sighed. "I'd like to let him sleep a little, but I'll ask him to call you when he feels up to it, is that okay?"  
  
Joe rolled over and pulled the pillow over his head. He pretended to be asleep for the next two hours, to avoid having that conversation. In fact, he avoided having it for the next four days, and then just flat out told her he wasn't calling Patrick back, so he'd just have to keep waiting. And four days turned into seven, then seven into ten, and the thought of going back to the apartment was more and more terrifying. What would he find? He'd left them alone for almost two weeks, and apparently Patrick no longer had any qualms about whose bed he slept in.  
  
So, he avoided it. His old room was familiar and safe, even though it wasn't particularly comforting. He didn't even leave the house. Going outside was such hard work. At home, he could sit around in old clothes he wore in high school and watch daytime quiz shows without anyone scrutinising him. His father was at work, Sam was at school, and when she decided he wasn't going to harm himself if she wasn't there to supervise, even his mom went back to her hobby groups, leaving him alone in the place for hours.  
  
He was genuinely starting to think that maybe he should give up and come home for good. And not just come home, but quit the band and start over. Just disappear from his whole social circle. He was pretty sure the only person who'd notice was Pete, because then he could do whatever the fuck he wanted.  
  
Except just after two on Monday, the doorbell woke Joe up. Reluctantly, he rolled out of bed on to the floor, muttering curses at the delivery guy he assumed was impatiently waiting outside, and stumbled down the stairs in his boxers and a t-shirt. He flung the door open and stuck out his hand to take whatever it was, only to find his phone charger pushed into it.  
  
"Charge your phone," Pete told him, turning to walk away. "By the way, Evening Out's getting released next month and we've been offered a record deal, so… band meeting tomorrow."  
  
"What? Wait - who? Pete?" He stepped out onto the front porch, completely forgetting that it was February and he was half-dressed.  
  
Pete stopped at the bottom of the steps, stuffing his hands in both pockets, and turned to look at him. "Island."  
  
" _Island_?!"  
  
"Well, kind of. Shouldn't you put some pants on, or whatever?"  
  
Joe looked down at himself, arms wrapped across his chest against the cold, and nodded awkwardly. He moved back inside and left the door open, in case Pete wanted to follow.  
  
"So… you doing okay?"  
  
All Joe could really do was look down at him on the path and shrug, shaking his head.  
  
"When're you coming home?"  
  
He hesitated, "I don't know if I am."  
  
Pete frowned and hopped up the steps and into the hall, pushing the door closed behind himself. "Are you serious?"  
  
Reluctantly, Joe nodded. "Actually, I'm like… I think I'm just gonna quit the band…"  
  
"What the fuck? No! Dude, you can't fucking quit - not now! What the fuck's wrong with you? We're getting _signed_!"  
  
"I know… I just can't - I'm done, dude. This isn't fun for me, anymore."  
  
"Okay, no: you're not 'just done', you started this fucking band, you can't quit! Seriously - you literally can't."  
  
"Just find someone else," Joe sighed, wandering into the kitchen and sitting down sideways on a dining chair. "I'm only a guitarist."  
  
"That's not the fucking point! Sean's trying to get us to promote the shitty record he couldn't get distributed before, or whatever, but that he's somehow mysteriously got distribution for _right before_ we put out the new one. And the fucking noodle guys want to work with Island to put out new stuff before summer, so we can get back out and tour it, so our only option is basically to take the three fucking good songs we wrote and get some new shit written. We can't do both, but Sean has us all - including you - on a contract and it's not Sean's shitty little label that's gonna get us on the fucking cover of Rolling Stone, yeah? He's trying to fuck up the deal and get Island to pay him off. This is some serious fucking shit, and you cannot do this to us now!"  
  
Joe dropped his head against his palm and massaged his brow. He'd only just woken up, he could hardly process that Pete was in his parents' kitchen, right now, never mind fucking legal stuff.  
  
"Dude, I'm serious: this is a big fucking deal. You cannot let the fact that Patrick made a decision you both regret ruin every single thing we've been working for. You've gotta let this go."  
  
"'Let this - '? Are you kidding me? You were fucking there!"  
  
"Yeah, and I almost froze to death with you in that fucking van. Do not do this to people who care about you."  
  
"Pete - "  
  
"Look, okay: I get that you're hurt, or whatever, but this is not what you do. This is not how you deal with shit not going your way. You started this. You can't be mad at him for fucking someone else, when you strung him along for a month and let him suck your dick, and then refused to even say you still love him, so man the fuck up, yeah?"  
  
"When did I refuse - ?"  
  
"It doesn't matter. Just deal with it. Running away won't solve shit."  
  
"I'm not running away!" _Yeah, you kind of are…_  
  
"Whatever you think you're doing, you're just being a dick."  
  
Joe huffed angrily and got up, pushing past him to a spot where Pete would be less overbearing. "You don't know what it feels like…"  
  
For a moment, Pete stared at him like he wanted to break his nose. "No, obviously I don't, 'cause like, I don't know how it feels to see the person you love hooking up with someone else, right? When the fuck would I ever get any experience of that? God. You're such a self-absorbed little shit."  
  
Joe felt the words like a punch in the stomach. _I fucking called it…_  
  
"You know what?" Pete began, shrugging and heading for the door. "Make your choice. Band meeting's tomorrow at eight. If you don't show, we'll just like, figure you wussed out and quit. But if you won't do it for you, and you're too fucking petty to do it for Patrick, do it for Andy. He needs this to work out more than any of us, yeah?"  
  
Joe flinched at the sound of the front door slamming shut, then crawled back into bed, not even bothering to plug in his phone before he went back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Title from The Smashing Pumpkins' 'Tonight, Tonight'_   
>  _Quote from Jimmy Eat World's 'Your House'_


	22. Your Dirty Sadness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe saw him first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, created with support from my awesome betas, [heartofthesunrise](http://archiveofourown.org/users/heartofthesunrise) and [distortedmya](http://archiveofourown.org/users/distortedmya).
> 
>  
> 
> Trust me.

**The World's Not Waiting (For Joe Trohman To Stop Being A Pussy And Start Going For What He Wants)**

**Your Dirty Sadness**  
_"Whoever I was then, I can't ever be again..."_

Joe hovered outside the apartment door for a few moments before putting his key in the lock. His heart was racing and he could already hear voices inside. Fleetingly, he considered leaving. Just walking away and letting that be his answer. He didn't want to see Patrick, but he also did, desperately. He didn't want to walk in and see the chain hanging on his door handle or hear the passive aggressive playlist emanating from Patrick's room. But then he heard Andy's voice in the hall, getting closer to the door, and he knew he was going to be found out by the one person he owed enough to stick around for.

He turned the key and pushed the door open as casually as he could. In front of him, Andy was pulling the keys to his van out, talking about something he'd forgotten. At the far end of the hall, standing in the kitchen doorway was Patrick. They locked eyes instantaneously and it winded him a little, the shock of it constricting his chest. He knew he'd see him, he just didn't realise it would be before he'd even got inside. Patrick seemed to pale and redden in one rolling flash, like a cuttlefish shifting its camouflage. He looked away, quickly, and disappeared into the kitchen without saying a word.

It was clear from Andy's face that he knew, and that he knew they'd just seen each other.

"Hey," he said, catching Joe's arm and tugging him into a hug. "You okay? I'm so glad to see you!" When he pulled away, the concern in his eyes was obvious.

Joe sucked in his bottom lip and nodded awkwardly. He didn't have the heart to say 'Not really' or 'I still don't know if I'm sticking around, bro,' even though he was thinking it.

"I just need to run down and grab my phone from the van, I'll be right back."

He ducked out of the door, leaving Joe standing there. Behind the kitchen door, he could see the dark shape of Patrick's shadow falling on the fridge, like he was waiting for him to go away before he came back out. _Fuck - this is gonna suck._

He made his way to the living room door and found Pete inside, reading through a bundle of papers. He looked up when Joe appeared, shifting his rucksack on his shoulder.

"You came," he observed. "Guess Lunchbox owes me ten bucks."

There was an awkward nudge at his back, as Patrick squeezed past him and into the room, curling himself into the easy chair with his cap pulled down low over his eyes. He was chewing his nails, a habit Joe had helped train him out of a year ago. He looked small, almost fragile, piled all together with socked feet tucked down the edge of the cushion and the tears in his jeans exposing his knees. Like some kind of tragic street urchin.

"Uh… Hi, I guess."

Pete didn't answer, Patrick gave a half glance in his direction and twitched a finger on his free hand by way of greeting. He was starting to wonder why he'd bothered showing up at all. He almost did an about turn and walked back out, but Pete picked up the guitar laying on the couch beside him and put it on the floor, patting the seat.

Reluctantly, he perched on the edge with his coat still on and his bag over his shoulder, like he was visiting someone's parents' house, rather than hanging out in his own living room.

Patrick was watching The Simpsons on TV, pointedly facing away from him - almost as though he was trying to pretend he wasn't there - and Joe found himself staring in response. Hoping that Patrick would turn and look back at him, but not sure what he'd do if Patrick did.

It was a relief when Andy walked back in and broke the tension.

"So, let's get our shit together, right?" he said, leaning against the TV cabinet. "What're we gonna do?"

"Dunno," Pete shrugged, and Joe could feel the eyes fixed on the side of his face. "Guess we need to know if we still have a guitarist, kind of."

"Of course we do," Andy scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "That's not even up for discussion."

Patrick's shoulders had tensed and he'd tilted his head just enough for it to be obvious that he was listening.

"Isn't it?" Pete asked, pointedly. "Not what I heard."

The look Andy gave Joe was sharp and dismayed all at once. "Joe? Dude, what the fuck?"

Joe almost got up and shut himself in his room to escape the pressure. They were all staring at him, even Patrick had turned and was looking over his shoulder. If not at Joe's face, then certainly in his direction.

"I… I don't feel like me staying in the band is gonna, like… gonna work, basically."

"Are you fucking serious?!" Andy demanded, crossing the room to crouch in front of him, grasping his forearms like he wanted to shake him. "You can't quit!"

"That's what I told him," Pete shrugged.

"Joe, I'm serious: this is crazy. I get that you're having a hard time, lately, so maybe you just need a little space to work that out, but right now we have a _huge_ opportunity and a big problem. We can't lose you -" he glanced at Patrick, who shut his mouth abruptly before Joe even realised he'd opened it, "- or _anybody_ \- right now."

"I know, but - "

"Good. Then it's settled. You're absolutely not quitting the damn band, right?"

"Andy - "

"If you quit," Patrick cut in, quietly, "what was the point of any of this?"

Joe looked at him - turned away again, now, hugging his knees - and didn't know what to say.

Neither Pete nor Andy said anything, leaving the expectant silence to force him to provide an answer. He shrugged, even though he knew that Patrick wasn't looking.

"You kept saying this was to protect the band, and now you wanna walk out on us?"

"No… I…" He dropped his face into his hands, propping his elbows on his knees. He could feel Andy's hand on the back of his head, soothingly.

"Dude, we all love you - right, guys?"

He felt Pete sit up beside him and wrap an arm across his back, his head resting on Joe's shoulder. "Even when he's a little asshole."

"Patrick?"

There was a soft thump of feet hitting the floor and, a moment later, the feel of three fingertips resting lightly on his other shoulder before slipping away.

"See?" Andy asked. "We don't want to do this without you, okay? It's non-negotiable. If you quit, I will too."

"If you quit…" Patrick sniffed and cleared his throat, "there's no band. Y'know… despite everything, I don't want to do this if you're not in it."

Wearily, feeling guilt tripped and railroaded, even though he knew they were trying to be kind and supportive, Joe lifted his head. Andy's nervous but encouraging smile reminded him of what Pete had said, back in his parents' kitchen. Andy wasn't poor, but his mom hadn't been left with an ex-husband to share the load, she'd coped on her own. She'd also been really sick, ten or so years back, and he'd vowed to help pay off her debts - this band making it was his best chance at achieving that, because a degree in anthropology didn't exactly come with a guarantee of six figures, and he was going to have loans to deal with at the end of his studies.

He almost wished he didn't love Andy so dearly, because maybe then he wouldn't have felt so obligated.

"I… Look, I'll try, okay? But I just… That fucking tour really, really sucked and I'm gonna need, like, space."

"Well, it's not like that's new," Patrick laughed, flatly, and curled back into his chair like a hermit crab retreating to its shell.

Joe cast him a cold look, but Patrick wasn't watching. 

"Look, the main thing is that we're a band - a team - and we all put so much into getting ourselves this chance. Whatever fights we have, we can work them out. It's us versus the industry, okay? This could be our opportunity to do a job we love for the rest of our lives. I really, really don't want to mess this up."

"I said I'd do it," Joe mumbled back.

"And that's good, but it applies to all of us. We all need to work at this and back each other."

When they started talking it out, pushing aside the problems between Joe and Patrick and really dealing with the band's problems, instead, Patrick uncurled himself slightly in his chair and turned to face them. Joe mostly watched the others talk. He knew nothing about the music industry, didn't have a parent who was a musician, or a lawyer, or any experience with handfuls of other bands.

It seemed obvious that they'd go with the Ramen/Island combo because Fueled by Ramen, or whatever they were called, had seemed like a genuinely decent outfit, and Island were just Island. How the hell did they turn down the label Queen were on? If they wanted Fall Out Boy on their roster, though, they'd have to help with the situation with Sean and their real debut album, which was suddenly being released, months after they'd recorded it.

Pete had proposed a dirty protest at Sean's office, and Patrick had yelled at him for not taking the problem seriously. It was the first time in a few weeks that Joe had truly laughed, and it felt like a huge intake of breath - of fresh air - that left him a little lightheaded. 

"So, I mean, are you coming home?" Pete asked, in the kitchen, when Joe went with him to help carry drinks back in. He'd finally taken his coat off and he and Patrick had spoken actual words directly to each other, which was a small but reassuring step. He'd been half afraid he'd never find the means to speak to Patrick again. The things they'd said had been superficial and specifically band-related, but they were civil and he hadn't broken down in tears.

"I'll stay tonight, I guess."

Pete nodded pensively, stirring sugar into Patrick's coffee. "If you're not feeling it, dude, don't think that, like, you need to. I don't want shit to get overwhelming, or whatever."

"Thanks."

"I mean, you kind of freaked everybody out."

"Sorry…"

"No - I just mean I get what it's like being eighteen and kind of bummed out about everything, and if you wanna do this one thing at a time, I get it."

"Okay."

"But, I mean, now you know for sure that things are totally over between you and him, you can move on, right?"

Actually, he wasn't sure he could, but he nodded anyway, picking up Andy's drink and walking away with it. He was getting really tired of lectures.

It wasn't until Andy left that night, and Joe headed back to his room, that he realised something was missing. He stood in front of the door, staring at the spot where the gold chain had been hung when he was last there.

"I took it back for safe keeping," Patrick's voice explained from behind him, quiet again, now that they weren't talking band business. "Pete had friends over, I didn't want to risk it getting, y'know, 'lost' or something. I'll get it."

Joe didn't say anything, but he followed him to the door of his room and watched him switch on the lamp to reveal a new collection of duct tape holding together half of his possessions and a new dent in the drywall that looked a lot like the corner of a speaker. Patrick pulled open a drawer and retrieved the small, blue box the pendant had been given to him in, then turned back and caught Joe staring at the disarray. Abruptly, he stepped across the tiny room and pushed the box into Joe's hand, pulling the door close to his shoulder, to limit what he could see.

"Tell your grandma I said thank you."

All Joe could do was nod reflexively and leave him there to hide in his bedroom, wondering what had happened when he wasn't around.

He still hardly left his room for the next few days, but he made an effort to go to the store for food, and to eat at least a couple of times a day. He also had to call his mom every evening so she could check on him, which he didn't actually mind so much now that she knew and he didn't have anything to hide from her. Except that every time they spoke she asked how Patrick was and how things were with Patrick, and the short answer was 'distant'. They were courteous when they bumped into each other around the apartment and they coped okay on Wednesday night band practise, but other than that they didn't see each other at all.

Patrick still spent a lot of his time in the living room but he also seemed to have been joined by Pete, as a semi-permanent fixture, now. They were always sat there, on the couch - sometimes with Patrick's head resting on Pete's shoulder and, one time, with Pete's head in Patrick's lap. Whenever Patrick realised that Joe had left his room and could see them sitting there, he'd straighten up and pretend to focus on something else. And Joe tried really hard not to be mad - he and Patrick were over and it hurt, but he didn't even have the hope of them getting back together to justify being angry about it - yet he couldn't help feeling like maybe he'd been played. Not least when he got up one morning and bumped into Patrick wandering sleepily out of Pete's room in his pyjamas. He didn't even look embarrassed at being caught.

So, when Ella called and invited him to a friend's birthday party on a Friday night, he let himself be talked into it. He even offered to be designated driver, in part to avoid questions about not drinking, but she'd laughed fondly at his innocence and told him no one would be leaving until the next morning, anyway. Instead, he picked up a few family bottles of pop on his way over, not wanting to show up empty handed and feeling like showing up with only one for himself made him look cheap, even if no one else was going to drink it. Besides, his mom and dad had offered an allowance until he felt like he could get another job and look at changing his college course to something more interesting, like computer stuff, and he wasn't paying for half of Patrick's food, anymore.

Right before he left, as he was standing in the hall putting on his coat, Patrick opened his bedroom door a little and leaned against the frame, tugging at the striped wristband around his forearm.

"Are you going out?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Oh." Patrick tucked his lip between his teeth and seemed almost about to turn and close the door.

"Did you need something?"

"No… I just. Will you be back, later?"

"Yeah."

"Late?"

"I don't know, dude. When I'm ready."

"Okay," Patrick nodded, and slipped back into the room without saying anything else.

Joe stared at the closed door for a moment. He could hear music in Pete's room and he couldn't help wondering if Patrick was just checking how much time they had until he was home. Well, fine. If Patrick wanted to be Pete's next disaster, that was his problem. Joe wasn't going to pick up the pieces.

But it didn't stop him sitting in his car for ten minutes before he pulled away, forehead resting on his arms over the steering wheel, trying to convince himself he meant it and that he wasn't about to cry. 

\---

Joe vaguely remembered the guy holding the party from his last couple of shifts at the store, around the time that Joe started, but they'd never really spoken.

"Hey!" Seth greeted him at the door, already an open beer in his hand. "I remember you! Come on in!" He wrapped an arm around Joe's shoulders and guided him toward the kitchen.

Joe was pretty sure nobody had been that pleased to see him all month.

"Craig said you'd come, but I couldn't place a face to the name, at first," he said, taking the bag of bottles out of Joe's hand and starting to put them in the fridge. He looked back at him over his shoulder for a moment, before giving a lopsided smile and adding, "Kind of surprised I didn't, now I see you again."

It probably said a lot that it took over two hours to realise that Seth was coming on to him. If his opening gambit wasn't enough, he'd kept cropping up whenever Joe tried to talk to the people he knew, and they all kept disappearing in response. He was starting to think he wasn't as welcome as they'd said he would be, so he set himself down on the stairs with half a cup of Fanta and watched the rest of them all laugh and dance exuberantly through the living room doorway.

"So, there you are!" Seth's voice declared cheerfully, followed by the sound of his footsteps on the stairs. He walked down and sat on the step next to him. He wasn't particularly tall or particularly attractive, or particularly anything, his hair was a medium shade of brown and his eyes weren't concentric rings of pretty colours, but he was confident and warm and he had dimples and a nice smile that wasn't too wide for his face.

"I wasn't hiding, dude," Joe told him.

"Good. _Good_ \- because that would be a kind of awkward thing to do…" he grinned and patted Joe's shoulder, leaving his hand to rest there. "So… I hear you're with the party, too."

"Um… yeah, I guess, I mean - they kind of like invited me, so…"

Seth looked at him, puzzled for a second, and then smiled anyway. "I didn't mean _this_ party. I meant _the_ party."

Joe looked back at him, blankly. "Yeah, I don't, like, know what you're talking about, bro."

This time, Seth flat-out laughed. It wasn't mean, but it was a little baffled. "I'm starting to think they've been jerking my chain."

"Huh?"

"Ella said you needed some cheering up."

"Oh."

"She thought maybe I could do that."

"Oh. Right. Hope you've got some neat tricks, 'cause I haven't found a whole lot that works, right now."

"So... it sucks that you just got dumped, man," Seth told him, taking a mouthful of beer. "Well. For you, anyway. I'm fine with it."

"Yeah… yeah, it really does." He didn't bother to clarify that he'd been the one doing the dumping, because so far people seemed to have a lot less time for his misery when they realised that.

"Tell me about him," Seth commanded, offering him a swig from his bottle and shrugging when Joe shook his head.

"I kind of don't - "

"Yeah, you do. When people get dumped, all any of us want to do is talk about it. Go on."

"Um…" Joe cast his eyes to the ceiling, watching a stray, dusty cobweb flutter in an air current with dull recollection of days lying in his bedroom. He didn't really want to invoke all those shitty feelings again on a night that was supposed to cheer him up. "He's in my band. We share an apartment with another dude, and I just, like… since we broke up he already slept with some girl and I think he might be fu…" The word seemed to get stuck behind his teeth, on the tip of his tongue. He paused. "The other dude has always had a thing for him, basically, and he's like, way cooler than me and they're best friends, so…"

"Damn. That's kind of harsh. Why the hell did you move in with this guy?"

"Money and stuff," he shrugged. "Patrick needed a place to live… But that's basically what I said all along."

"Just sounds like asking for trouble, to me."

"Seriously, dude, you don't even fucking _know_."

"So, what's he like, your ex?"

The words winded him a little, striking the reality home like a sledgehammer. _Your ex_. Seth was the first person he'd met in years who'd never really known him while he and Patrick were together. "He… I don't know what you want to know, man."

"Anything."

"Um… well, he's really talented - he sings in our band and he's really awesome at writing music... He's pretty smart and like, really into marine animals, weirdly... I think he'd have wanted to study that if it wasn't music… Not that he went to college, in the end, because… well, I mean, I guess mostly it was the band and stuff, but there were kind of other reasons, at the time, too. He's pretty short and real shy, but he's got kind of like… a fiery redhead thing - not with me, or anything, but I'm pretty sure he trashed his own room last week, and he lived with my family for a while because he kept fighting with his mom…"

Seth nodded slowly. "Been through a lot together, huh?"

"Everything, basically."

"I'm sorry," Seth said, rubbing his shoulder. "It's his loss, right?"

Joe tried to clear the lump in his throat and nodded. The last thing he needed was to embarrass himself at a party in front of the first new friends he'd made in a year or more. "Do you mind if we kind of don't…?"

"Yeah, dude, I'm sorry."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the others while Seth peeled the label off his bottle. 

"At least now you get a chance to play the field," Seth offered. "You're what - nineteen, twenty? That's way too young to settle down."

"I'm eighteen, actually." 

"For real? You look older."

Joe pulled out his wallet and opened it to the little plastic window where he'd kept his license since moving the picture of Patrick to behind his ATM card. "September first, 1984."

Seth smiled a little, studying the picture before handing it back. "February fourteenth, 1982."

"Happy birthday. Is this where you decide I'm too young to hang out with your buddies?"

"Nah. You're an adult, aren't you? Two and a half years is nothing. But if you're only eighteen, you definitely don't need to be settling down. Maybe you ought to be thinking about making out with other guys at parties for a while, instead."

Joe snorted a small laugh, about to tell him he'd have to find someone willing, first, when the penny finally dropped. He felt cold all of a sudden, across his shoulders and down his spine, and he wasn't sure if it was a good feeling or not. Uncertainly, he looked over at him, trying to work out if he was serious. Seth was looking back at him appraisingly, blowing gently over the neck of his bottle.

"You're kind of slow on the uptake, for the record."

"Sorry." He could feel himself blushing like a schoolgirl. "I'm just kind of like… not used to people -" 

"I figured," Seth smirked, tickling the top of his ear as he emptied his bottle and stood up. As he started down the last few stairs, Joe quickly got to his feet and followed him, not wanting to lose his attention.

"Do you want a grown up drink?" Seth asked, opening the fridge. 

"No, I'll be fine with what I bought, dude…"

"Are you sure?" Seth prompted, holding up two different types of beer, neither of which Joe knew anything about. "Alcohol is a great way to forget about getting dumped and your ex sleeping around. As is making out with dudes at parties, but we've covered that."

Joe looked from his eyes to the bottles in his fists, and hesitantly held out a hand to accept whichever one Seth passed to him. One couldn't hurt. Andy would never know and he could really, really do with forgetting everything for a little while.

Seth grinned, bopping him on the nose with the cap on his bottle, making him grin back and duck his head to rub at the dampness from the condensation. "Your morals are weak, human."

In Joe's opinion, the beer tasted like day old piss and bubble bath, but he drank it anyway. And when Craig came back from the kitchen with a bottle between each of his fingers, he accepted one of those, too. He was actually starting to relax and have a good time, enjoying the company of people who didn't treat him like their dorky little brother to be made fun of, or know the band and all its baggage at all.

The longer they hung out, the more he found that Seth was actually really likeable and easygoing. Joe didn't find himself minding at all when he rested his hands on the small of his back or led him around the house to talk to his roommates and buddies by the wrist, introducing him as his 'new friend, Joe'. He tried to contribute some of the money his mom had given him, towards the cost of the pizzas Seth ordered in lieu of cake, but was gently slapped on the hand.

"Nope. My party, my problem," he insisted, reaching around him to put five more boxes on the table, catching Joe against it and grinning as he leaned in to speak close to his ear. "Look at it this way: at least I can say I bought you dinner."

Joe could feel the flush running up his neck as he smiled back at him, scrunching his nose self-consciously, but he was much more distracted by the twisting in his stomach. He was trying his hardest to get used to someone genuinely flirting with him. Someone older, clearly way more popular. And yet, he didn't feel at all like he was being mocked, as he'd expected to be while sitting on the stairs. Mostly, he just felt a little weird, like maybe Seth thought he was someone else - someone who hadn't spent days staring at his ceiling because his ex had hooked up with someone who wasn't him.

Amid the scramble for slices of pepperoni, he found himself pulled towards a corner and nudged lightly against a bookcase full of Marvel collections and CDs, paper plate in hand. 

"You're really cute when you smile, you know," Seth informed him, shouting a little over the sound of Wheatus demanding respect from the speaker by his shoulder. "I didn't think I'd get to see you do it, tonight, when we first talked."

Accepting compliments didn't come easy to Joe. He wasn't sure how to deal with it graciously without the risk of sounding too convinced by it. "Um. Thanks, I guess? I'm not, like, a puppy or anything, but okay."

"I don't think I'd wanna kiss you as much, if you were a puppy," Seth laughed.

Joe found himself smiling again, disarmed by his openness. He didn't even care that there were a couple of dozen people crowded into the room around them, these people were in Seth's house and they had to know that he was whatever he was. It felt safe, here, and it was the first night in weeks when he hadn't felt totally shitty about everything. He figured he should make the most of it. It had come easily enough to Patrick, why shouldn't he try? There was a 12" scale model of The Hulk pressing at his back, but all Joe could think was that revenge was a dish best served slightly drunk, with pizza in one hand and a fistful of someone else's shirt in the other.

So, he leaned in before his nerve could fail on him, and kissed him, briefly and warm in the face, because God, this was actually real and he kind of wanted to own it, but when he left home a few hours earlier it was the last thing he'd expected to find himself doing.

He was just beginning to feel the first twinge of embarrassment when Seth slid his plate on to the books behind him and leaned back in, one hand at the back of Joe's head to stop him bumping it on the shelf.

"I just wanted to get that done before I start tasting of pizza," Seth shrugged when he let him go, glancing at him with a sidelong smirk and leaning against the shelves beside him to take a bite of veggie supreme.

"Actually," Joe told him, focusing all his attention on pulling a strand of cheese at the edge of his slice of margherita, trying his hardest to sound like he knew what we was doing, "pizza tastes way better than beer. So, like, knock yourself out."

By the early hours of the morning, Joe was sat slouched back against the corner of the couch, a leg dangling over Seth's thigh with his arm hooked around Joe's waist. What had remained of the nervous tension between them had dissipated and the others seemed to have taken their making out in the corner as a signal that they could hang out with them again, as though Seth had landed his catch and they could go back in the water. And he didn't even mind. He was finally starting to enjoy himself, like he was seeing what it would have been like to go to parties in high school, but with less drama and fewer assholes. All the parties he'd been to up till now had been hosted by hardcore dudes with no alcohol permitted on pain of violence. 

They'd hardly let go of each other since. By the time he found himself snuggled onto the couch, half sitting on Seth's lap, some of the party had trickled away, moving on to clubs or heading home in pairs. Next to them, Ella had fallen asleep with her head on Craig's lap and her feet pressed against Seth's hip. Craig was holding a muddled conversation with a very drunk guy that Joe didn't know, and half the floor was strewn with bodies who'd claimed cushions or snuggled against someone. 

Just looking at them all made Joe yawn.

Seth's lips were warm against his ear as he whispered, "Do you want to stay? I've got room."

Joe looked at him for a moment, searching his face for the intent behind the invitation, hoping he'd understood correctly. Seth's fingertips plucked at the waistband where his boxers peeked above his jeans, letting it sting, playfully, as he rested his mouth on the fabric of Joe's t-shirt and looked up at him with an eyebrow quirked. 

"Or, I mean," he offered, "you could just crash in my room… That would also be fine, but probably less fun."

Joe didn't even hesitate, he just nodded.

He couldn't quite believe it was happening. He'd never been propositioned before, or even made out with someone at a party. All of his formative years, so far, had been spent figuring himself out, in fear of being found out, or squarely fixated on Patrick - Patrick who apparently now slept in Pete's bed and actively avoided him. Besides, the fact that someone like Seth would be interested in him blew his mind.

He'd thought he would be clumsy and awkward, like things had been with Patrick when they first started having sex, but Seth just led him, asking permission to move on with a pause and a grin, or an occasional, knowing 'Yeah?' that made it easy to smile back and agree or urge him on. He'd been doing this regularly for over a year and he knew the ropes better than he'd realised, but that didn't mean some of it wasn't new.

"So, I'm going to hazard a guess that you don't usually do it like this," Seth told him, when Joe flinched under his fingers, pulling his hand away and kneeling back. Their clothes were already scattered across the attic room floor, and he didn't even care. If this was what alcohol did for his confidence, then he didn't care what Andy thought, either, he was going to keep fucking drinking it. "I don't generally, but if you'd rather switch - "

"No - it's… dude, it's fine. Really."

"Sure?"

"Yeah. I mean, like… the only reason is that he never wanted to, basically." _And you're way less likely to fuck this up than I am, man._

Seth's smile was mischievous, then, and he crawled over him, one hand on either side of his shoulders. "He's the only other guy you've had, isn't he?"

"We got together when I was like, sixteen, dude, I didn't have a lot of time for 'other guys'," Joe informed him, and for a moment he felt his heart skitter. Sixteen… It sounded so fucking young. Andy and Pete and fucking Chris might still think they were kids, but Joe didn't feel like one, right now.

"Hey, I'm not complaining. When Ells said she wanted me to help her friend out, I didn't think it would end _this well_ for me."

Joe frowned, looking up at him, "Wait, is that why you're doing this?" He could feel the start of an embarrassed pull in his belly, braced a hand on Seth's shoulder ready to nudge him away. _That would make so much more sense…_

But Seth sighed and knocked him on the forehead with a knuckle. "She's not my madam, Joe, c'mon. I only do stuff I don't want to for people who're worth it. So, like I was saying, do you wanna switch, or not?"

Joe swallowed and shook his head, shifting slightly to prove it.

And it was good - weird-good, because Patrick had never wanted to experiment or change their habits and he wasn't used to it at all - but good nonetheless. And it felt different. Generally, Patrick had called the shots and Joe just focused on getting it right. But Seth encouraged him to ask for things, like he believed Joe knew what he was into, when in truth he'd hardly considered it.

They didn't cuddle after, or spoon, like Patrick always wanted. They sprawled next to each other and Seth lifted his hand for a high-five. "Good work."

All Joe could do was slap his palm and laugh.

\---

It was after 5am when he woke up. It was sudden and he was wide awake in an instant. He could only have been asleep for a couple of hours. He sat up on the edge of the bed, slightly afraid that he'd imagined it all. He had to go. He didn't know why, he just had to. He needed to be in his own space. And a shower - he really needed a shower. He'd walk home, it was only a couple of miles and he had a coat on the backseat - he'd walk home and then come back later to pick up the car.  
"You going?" Seth asked, groggily, waking up at the movement on the mattress.

"Yeah."

"You don't have to."

"I need to get home."

"Okay," he said. "Get a taxi, you're probably over the limit." 

"It's cool, dude, I'll walk. I only live in Roscoe Village."

Seth sat up a little, watching him pull on his t-shirt. He had a hoodie somewhere downstairs, and he was going to have to climb over all the passed out bodies on the floor to get to it.

"Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, dude… I'm fine."

"When you pick up your car, you should stop by. Give me your number or something…" 

"Okay."

Seth watched him with a knowing half-smile in the patch of weak moonlight shining through the velux, as he tried to undo his sneakers in the dark. "You're not going to, are you?"

Joe stopped pulling on his shoe and looked up at him, wanting to be honest because he'd want to know himself. "I'd like to, dude - I mean, I had a really good time - just don't think it's a good idea to be like, getting involved in stuff, right now." _I've already fucked up one relationship in the last month…_

"Shame. I mean, I'm not exactly into dating people who are blatantly still in love with their exes, but you should still come get my number, though. In case you want to do this again, sometime. Or just hang out."

Joe blinked. He hadn't expected such a laid back response. "I mean, I'm like, kind of dealing with some stuff, and the whole reason me and Patrick broke up is that I kind of like, don't have time, but… sure. I'd… I'd totally consider doing this again." He hovered at the end of the bed, wondering what the etiquette was for saying goodbye to someone you'd had your first conversation with and slept with in the space of a few hours on their 21st birthday. _Pete would know. Maybe I should have fucking asked him._ "So… thanks. I had, uh - a much better time than I kind of expected, dude. Much better."

Seth grinned at him. "Me too, as it happens."

On impulse, Joe knelt across the bed and gave him a brief kiss on the lips, before mumbling something about seeing him later and ducking out of the room.

\---

Walking home in the dark, along quiet streets at 5.30 in the morning, was oddly serene. It gave him time to process his feelings because there would have been too many of them to manage while driving. The tune of NYC floated around in his head as he went, vying for space with thoughts of what had happened in the past few hours. He hadn't expected anything like this. He'd assumed he'd spend a few hours sitting in a corner of someone's living room, watching everyone else have fun while being intermittently asked if he was okay. It felt weird, and a little gross - his skin felt sticky, even though it wasn't - but he was totally elated, too. He wasn't as appalled with himself for it as he'd thought he would be when he was letting - _helping_ \- Seth take off his clothes. Maybe it was just that he was still a little drunk. He felt fine, but he really wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel. He'd had the worst month - worst year, really - and that night had been a small, unexpected oasis of _not so bad_.

He felt a little guilty for that, like he shouldn't have let himself enjoy it because he was supposed to be feeling shitty about his relationship falling apart, but just for once, it was nice to feel like someone was more interested in him than he was in them. He didn't think that had ever happened, before, and it left him light-headed and a little flustered.

When he got home, he tried to be as quiet as possible, not least because there was a good chance that Pete would be there to interrogate him. The apartment was dark, though, aside from the flickering light of the TV in the living room. He hung up his coat and peered in.

Asleep in the corner of the couch, surrounded by a collection of empty soft drink cans and a handful of snack wrappers, was Patrick. The place was cold and he had no blanket, like he'd fallen asleep waiting. 

The door to Pete's room was open and the light off, so he wasn't home. He'd assumed that he and Patrick would be spending the evening together, which had been an excellent reason to get out of the apartment for as long as possible, but Patrick didn't look like he'd been anywhere in a couple of days. He looked tired, even sleeping. His jaw glistened slightly, the light from the TV catching on stubble it always took him a few days to really grow. His hair was so light and fine, even the sideburns he'd been cultivating as evidence that he wasn't actually thirteen years old were taking a long time to thicken fully. His skin was still soft - or it was when he last got to touch it - like when they'd first met, two years ago. When they were still kids. But there were rings under his eyes now and his hair was longer, falling over his face against the arm of the chair.

For a few moments, Joe stood just inside the room, watching him sleep. He felt a little dazed by everything, like he was watching a movie and he'd forgotten half the plot - like how he got here. Why he was standing in the dark, watching the love of his life dozing on the couch instead of across the pillow, with what felt like bruises on his collarbone from someone he'd only just met and was only incidentally interested in.

_It's because you thought he deserved better, dude._

He thought about going into Patrick's room to get his comforter to bring out for him, but he wasn't sure Patrick would be cool with him going in there, not after what he'd seen before, and he didn't want to wake him. Waking him would mean talking, and talking right now would be a really bad and awkward idea. He probably smelled like beer and Seth and he wasn't ready to explain either of those things.

He backed out of the room, planning on getting Patrick the comforter from his own bed as some small form of apology for something Patrick would probably never know or care that he'd done. It wasn't even that he felt guilty, he just didn't want to reduce what had happened to petty one-upmanship. He'd just wanted make a decision of his own, for a change. And even if that was only a decision to have a one night stand with someone at a party, when they seduced him with free pizza and weak beer, it had been nice to feel wanted, for a change. 

But as he left the room, he caught sight of his coat on the rack where he'd just hung it. Maybe this was better, maybe it'd seem less like he was trying to be his knight in shining armour, and more like he was being a good friend. Because maybe that's what he needed to be, now - just a friend who cared, even if he was still mad at him. Mad at him for not being patient enough to wait for him, or honest enough to tell him face to face that they were leaving, or wise enough to see that getting involved with Pete, if that's what he was doing, was equal parts stupid and heartless.

So, he picked his coat up and crept over to him. The parka was insulated against the bitter Chicago weather, and the way he was curled up it'd cover him until he stretched out and woke, anyway. Besides, it was already warm from his body heat, walking home.

Gently, he stretched it out across him, afraid to bump or brush him at all, in case he woke up and defeated the purpose, then crouched down beside him, just to reassure himself that Patrick really was breathing. Up close, he looked ethereal in the blue light, his eyebrows pulled into a small frown and his mouth turned down a little at the corners. 

A not insubstantial part of him wanted to kick off his sneakers and curl up behind him, to get the cuddle he'd missed out on with Seth and was realising he actually needed. 

_I miss you so much... Why couldn't you just wait for me to figure things out?_

There was no point doing this - torturing himself thinking about where they should be, now - he really needed to take that shower and go to sleep, then tomorrow he'd pick up his car and forget it all.

But as he put one hand on the floor to steady himself as he stood up, he felt something under his fingers. It was an envelope, mauve in the light from the TV, square and stiff like a card. He picked it up and turned it over.

_Joe_  
_x_

His heart lurched in his chest, as he realised what it was and what day it was and that this should have been their second Valentine's Day, but it wasn't. And Patrick had gotten him a card and he didn't understand why, because they were over, they could barely handle being around each other, anymore, and he'd seen what Patrick was like with Pete… They were definitely over, because Patrick had given the necklace back, and otherwise he wouldn't have done what he'd done with Seth, because he wasn't like Patrick, he wouldn't hurt him like that.

He felt a little sick, suddenly. Lightheaded in an entirely different way to the beer or the exhilaration he'd felt walking home. He couldn't do this. He couldn't think about what Patrick might have said in the card or what it meant. What it _really_ meant. It was all too much and he wasn't thinking straight. His skin was feeling stickier and his forehead sweatier, despite the cold.

He stood up so quickly he almost overbalanced, his heart in his mouth, then placed the card carefully on the arm of the couch beside Patrick's head.

He shut himself in the bathroom and took the hottest shower he could stand, trying his best to wash it all away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Title from Fall Out Boy's 'The Kids Aren't Alright'_   
>  _Quote from Taking Back Sunday's 'Miami'_


	23. If You Would Only Listen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe saw him first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to my lovely betas [distortedmya](http://archiveofourown.org/users/distortedmya) and [heyginger](http://archiveofourown.org/users/heyginger).

**The World's Not Waiting (For Joe Trohman To Stop Being A Pussy And Start Going For What He Wants) [23/?]**

**If You Would Only Listen**  
_"So, rejoice in the company you're fit to keep..."_

 

**11 January 2003 - Ohio**

He woke up bleary and confused to the sound of the van door slamming. They were at a gas station - maybe a rest stop - and a sign close to the entrance said Mansfield, he presumed that meant Ohio. The warmth of the heater and the bleak strains of Interpol had sent him into an exhausted sleep, resting against the balled-up hoodie wedged between his head and the passenger window. He remembered with instant heartache what had happened in Columbus, the night before, and wished he'd never woken up. He could still feel the cold inside his bones and see her stupid rainbow-printed pyjamas as Patrick hugged her goodbye at the door. 

The others were gone, but Patrick was still in the van, standing behind the seats, reaching out a hand to gently reassure him that the noise was just the door.

Joe flinched and pulled away. He didn't want Patrick to touch him. He didn't want Patrick to look at him or talk to him or anything, right now. He wanted to put up all his shields and disappear.

"Joe?"

The CD had ended a long time ago, so he could still hear him, even muffled by the ear buds.

"Hey, talk to me..." Patrick pleaded gently, folding his arms along the back of the seats and resting his cheek on them, gazing at him. His fingertips crept towards Joe's shoulder again, brushing lightly at his sleeve, waiting for him to acquiesce, but all Joe could think of was what those fingers had done just a few hours before.

He tugged his arm a little out of reach and closed his eyes, burying his face in the fabric bunched up at his other shoulder. He hadn't had time to think things through or figure out what to do, or how to handle this - if he _could_ handle it - but he could feel the tears he couldn't shed the night before rising to the surface. He took long, steadying breaths to will them away. The moment he opened his mouth to speak he was going to lose it and he wasn't ready to let him know exactly how much it hurt, how he'd really thought it might be better to let himself freeze to death than lie in that house, forced to listen.

"Okay," he heard Patrick say, softly, after a few moments of being ignored. He turned and sank down on to the floor behind the seats, then added, his voice raised just enough to be heard, "If… I mean, I can't go anywhere, so… if you change your mind..."

There was silence for a few minutes. Both of them sitting there, not knowing what was going to happen, now. Things were different. Fundamental dynamics had changed: they used to be all the other knew, but now Patrick had been with someone else - even if Joe found a way to get over what he'd done, he'd still be wondering whether Patrick was comparing them. If he liked being with her better. He'd also be imagining what they'd done together - had he touched her like this, too? Did she figure out what he was into, or did he tell her because he'd already found it out with Joe? And every time Patrick touched him, he'd remember how he'd snuck off with her and been okay with leaving him to listen, and how deeply it had disturbed him, and the lengths he'd gone to, to escape it.

It was then that Joe realised that this would probably be his only chance to escape for at least a couple of hours. He tugged the hoodie out from under his head and climbed out to find his way across the forecourt to a bathroom. Patrick called after him, asking where he was going, but he couldn't even answer.

Andy was washing his hands, as he entered, so Joe went directly into a cubicle and locked the door. Maybe he'd take the hint.

"You okay?"

He didn't reply, he just leaned against the cracked, tangerine tiles and closed his eyes, wishing he was someplace else. 

"Joe?" There was a pause. "Okay, well… I'm around, alright?"

Reluctantly, he nodded against the wall, the cold surface against his forehead strangely soothing. He didn't really care that Andy wouldn't have been able to see, he was pretty sure he'd got the message. 

There was no movement for a while, just the sound of a weary sigh, and then the squeak of sneakers on the floor.

All he wanted was to be by himself, in his own space, with a door that couldn't be unlocked from the outside. He literally couldn't escape this situation - they were hundreds of miles from home, in Andy's van, and they had two more shows to do before they could get back to Chicago. He didn't know how he was going to make it through a set, that night, when his legs mostly wanted to buckle underneath him and fold him into a corner of the filthy cubicle floor.

He only had a few minutes before someone came looking for him, but he stayed there, turned away from the door and hugging himself for some semblance of comfort, letting salty spots roll off his chin and seep into his t-shirt while he bit his lip to keep quiet. He couldn't stop thinking about it: about the two of them, together. About how maybe, if he'd just given in sooner, none of it would have happened. They could be curled up in the back of the van, like they used to, and he wouldn't be happy and neither would Patrick - not long term - but they wouldn't be _this_. There wouldn't be any mental images or the hollow feeling in his chest, and he wouldn't be crying in the bathroom of some shitty rest stop, like a girl stood up at prom. 

Never in his life had anything hurt this much.

He froze at the sound of the door opening, holding his breath and then hurriedly wiping his face on his sleeve, expecting Pete to hop up and peer into the cubicle, but an older man's cough as he locked the one next to Joe's let him breathe again.

There wasn't a lot of time, and he didn't want anyone to see him like this, so he tugged a bunch of tissues from the dispenser, stuffing a handful in his pocket with his discman and blowing his nose on the rest. He flushed them, for effect, trying to give the impression he'd been using the bathroom, then made his way to the sinks. He looked like shit, but that was hardly a surprise. He hadn't shaved or brushed his teeth and his eyes were pink and ringed with sleepless smudges. 

He turned on the cold water - not that there was a hot option - and buried his face in cupped palms, trying to stop his eyes from looking red. He was going to have to take out his lenses now, too, because the salt would irritate his eyes beneath them if they weren't rinsed and left to rest in some solution.

He dried his face with some scratchy paper towels and pulled up his hood, tugging the zipper up almost to his chin to hide the evidence on his t-shirt underneath. Maybe if he kept his head down, none of them would notice. 

As he headed to the store to get a bottle of water, he caught sight of Patrick and Pete sitting in the front of the van. Patrick's feet were up on the dash, his head propped on his hands, Pete leaning both forearms across the wheel. Pete looked as exhausted as Joe felt and he wasn't entirely sure Pete driving them the rest of the way was safe, but who even fucking cared, anymore? If they died in a ditch, fine. At least he wouldn't have to deal with any of this.

\---

When he woke up again, it was almost two in the afternoon and it was snowing.

Andy was nudging him gently. "We're here."

Joe rubbed his eyes, realising he'd still forgotten to take out his lenses and now he'd have to wear his glasses all day. At least he'd have an excuse for his eyes to look raw.

In the passenger seat up front, Patrick was sitting sideways with one arm resting on the back, his face pressed into the back of his hand, watching. When he saw Joe looking at him he tried hard to smile, but it wavered feebly and he turned away, reaching down to pick up his rucksack and then climb out.

"You feeling any better?" Andy asked, moving to sit shoulder to shoulder.

Jerkily, Joe shook his head. He wasn't. Maybe more numb.

"Last night sucked, so I kind of get where you're at today, but you need to pull it together and get through this, okay? Pete and me are here if you want to talk about it or anything."

All he could manage was a miserable snort. Pete had done enough talking.

"If it makes you feel any better - and I kind of hope it doesn't, but… I don't think he's handling things so great, either. We both told him to give you a little space today, but you really need to hear him out at some point."

 _What for?_ They all knew what had happened. Patrick had even told him he was going to do it, so what was the point in talking about it, other than to twist the knife? It hurt enough already.

"You want something to eat?" Andy tried, when Joe didn't say anything. "We don't have to get lunch with those guys, if you don't want to hang out with Patrick right now - we can go someplace and hang out on our own for a while, if you'd like that better."

Joe shook his head, the idea of food made him nauseous and mostly he just wanted to be on his own. Maybe if he stayed while they went to get some food he could get some space.

Andy sighed, tucking an arm around his shoulders and giving him a comforting hug. "I'm sorry, dude. I wish we'd never booked this fucking tour."

 _If it wasn't this one, it'd be the next one_. What did any of it matter, now?

When Andy finally left, asking three more times if he wanted anything to eat, first, Joe took out his lenses and put on his glasses. He thought about calling his mom, just to hear her voice, but he couldn't find the energy to talk or risk having to explain what had happened. She still didn't even know they'd broken up or how badly he was doing in school. They'd hardly spoken the past two months and the few times they had she'd joked that he was too old to speak to his mommy, now, so she clearly thought he was just having too much fun with his freedom. 

It felt weird to be back in Cleveland, where they'd lived all those years ago, wishing he could live his life over again. He could barely remember Florida, but he remembered Ohio and leaving his little friends and not really knowing what it meant than other than going to live near grandma and grandpa. Maybe if he could go back and live it all again, he could make different choices. Like never walking into that Borders even once, so he could never have got to this point.

He knew it was his fault for not being able enough to manage, that maybe if he'd been smarter or less worried about disappointing his parents and losing their help and respect, they wouldn't have needed to break up. Maybe if he'd just been less useless and more _anything_ , less afraid that something was going to take Patrick away from him in the first place, maybe they'd still be together. He'd known it was only a matter of time, but he wasn't ready. It was hardly surprising that someone like Patrick would attract people, he'd always thought Patrick deserved better than him, anyway, but he'd sworn he only wanted to be with Joe and that he loved him and didn't want anyone else, and then… then this. How could he believe that Patrick had ever loved him if he could swear that he did and then choose this just a few hours later? And if he couldn't trust Patrick, who could he ever trust again? Pete had encouraged him, Andy had stood by and watched it happen, hadn't even warned him when he knew… All of them were complicit in this. All of his closest friends.

It was almost soundcheck time when the others returned, and he reluctantly tugged out his earphones and climbed out of his sleeping bag to help pass things out of the van. Patrick looked paler than usual, even with his cheeks pinched by the cold. He waited for Pete and Andy to get a decent grip on the bass amp and head towards the doors, before stepping forward for Joe to pass him his guitar cases, one in each hand so their fingers bumped as he handed them over.

"Thanks," he said softly, but didn't leave. Joe turned away, as if deciding what to give them next, hoping he'd get the message and leave him alone. "Joe, I… tonight, can we…?"

Joe turned to look at him grimly and said nothing, waiting for him to finish. What exactly did he want? To talk, so he could make excuses about why he'd needed to sneak off and sleep with a stranger? About why he'd claimed to be so desperate to get back together, but couldn't give Joe the time to figure things out, so they had a chance? Or how sorry he was, like that could even change anything, now? What were they going to do for somewhere to stay tonight, the same thing again?

The cold silence seemed to have cut off whatever he was trying to say, though. Like he was realising Joe wasn't ready to just tell him it was okay. Because it wasn't okay. It wasn't. He had so many things he wanted to say to Patrick, but none of them could be constructed into sentences, yet, and he was already struggling with the fact he was going to have to stand up in front of people and be stared at, in a couple of hours' time.

Patrick dropped his gaze at last and swallowed. "I guess not," he mumbled, pushing his glasses up his nose with the back of his wrist, clunking his guitar case against the door of the van. He walked away, scuffing his feet across the broken asphalt, jeans dragging in the slushy snow, his shoulders sloped.

For a minute, Joe sat on his amp and pressed his fingers to his eyelids. _I can't do this_. He felt strangely removed from everything that was happening, almost like he was watching himself from the inside.

By the time he was interrupted by Pete jumping into the van, he'd half convinced himself to grab his bag and his wallet and find the nearest Greyhound station.

Pete took a deep breath and climbed over a mic stand to perch on the edge beside him. They sat in silence for a moment, before he said, "Just go through the motions, that's all you gotta do."

Reluctantly, Joe got to his feet, nodding. He didn't want to be coached by Pete, right now.

Slapping him supportively on the shoulder, Pete picked up the mic stand and a box of pedals, and hopped back down. It became pretty clear when he didn't come out again that Patrick was hiding inside, presumably setting up, and he was grateful for whoever had told him to. He knew Patrick, he wouldn't have given up unless he was made to.

He wasn't sure if the nausea he felt, waiting in a corridor next to the stage, was nerves, or misery, or the fact it was at least thirty hours since he last ate anything, but he was lightheaded and exhausted and he didn't want to be there at all. When they did walk on, he was glad of the too-bright lights hiding the audience from him. There was no one pressed against the stage, tonight, just shadowy faces too cool to come forward and stand at the front. Which meant it'd be a tough crowd of dudes who didn't want them there, and their whole night was wasted.

He tried to avoid hi-fiving Patrick before they started, not out of pettiness but because he didn't want the contact, thought it might push him over the edge. But Patrick stood there with one hand raised, looking at him imploringly until he finally patted his palm and then turned to fiddle with his amp, to buy time to compose himself.

Joe didn't have the energy to jump or run around, he didn't even bother approaching his mic for his parts, he just lingered at the back of the stage, counting chords to distract himself. Pete covered him, he didn't even need to ask.

It was during _Switchblades and Infidelity_ that he nearly lost it, though. He tried to block out the lyrics, but he couldn't stop them running through his head and when Patrick suddenly trailed off on the second 'Walking out on you…' and rested his forehead against his mic, leaving Pete to pick up the final chorus, too, he could feel himself getting choked. 

When Patrick lifted his head and turned to change guitars for their penultimate song, Joe was sure his bottom lashes were glistening as the lights picked them out of the shadows under his cap. It could have been sweat, but he watched as Patrick scrubbed at one eye with the heel of his hand, hardly hearing that Pete was declaring _Calm Before The Storm_ their final song for the night, skipping _Pretty In Punk_ entirely.

They loaded up the van and got out onto the freeway within an hour of their set finishing. No one had really said much more than, "Pass that cable," the entire time.

No one had attempted to pick up any girls, either, but Pete had talked about using the money from the show to get a motel room, and Andy had agreed immediately. Neither Joe nor Patrick had said anything about it, they'd just been ordered into the back of the van to sit together in awkward silence until they picked somewhere along the interstate.

Joe put on his discman and closed his eyes, cocooning himself in music to try to forget how shitty he felt and avoid any more of Patrick's attempts to talk. It didn't make him feel any less heartbroken, but if Patrick was speaking he couldn’t tell. He only became aware of the commotion when Patrick stood on his ankle while scrambling to reach over the front seats, yelling, "PETE, I TOLD YOU TO TURN IT OFF!"

Pete was batting him away, telling him to calm down as Patrick pounded at his shoulder, Andy was yelling at both of them, and when he pulled out his earphones, he realised why. Dave Grohl's voice was keening from the radio. He stood up, stumbling a little with the momentum of the van, reached his longer arm over Patrick and ran the radio's search function. They'd probably never find the same station again, anyway.

He slumped back down and put his headphones back on, watching as Patrick sank down bonelessly against the back of the seats and took his glasses off to bury his face in his folded arms. He looked so fragile and small, his feet turned inward. Maybe Andy was right, maybe he did regret it, but that couldn’t change what happened, now. Because yeah, officially they weren't together and he knew, deep down, that he didn't have the _right_ to stop him if that's what he'd wanted, but it was Patrick who'd begged him to put a review date on breaking up, and Patrick who'd said he'd be willing for them to get back together the moment Joe was ready... and Joe who'd given him a choice - an alternative, at his expense - and Patrick who'd claimed to love him but done it anyway. Who'd pulled away in the moment Joe had been going to offer him what he wanted, even though he wasn't ready - because he loved him and hated the idea of him being with someone else, especially if he was doing it against his own wishes. Only, as it had turned out, he clearly hadn't had too much of an issue with it at the time.

They'd bundled their equipment into the tiny room, and he'd spent the night sharing a twin with Andy, lying awake in the silence until he woke from a sleep he didn't remember sinking into, breathless and weeping, his heart hammering in his chest - his fingertips pressed against the ugly, artificial wood panelling on the wall in front of him. He lay still for a few moments, trying to sense whether anyone else was awake, or had heard the whimpers of despair he felt sure had slipped from his dreams, but there was nothing, just the soft rasps of the others' light snores. Even across the room, he could hear Patrick's familiar, sleepy sighs and his heart clenched ferociously at the injustice of it. _Good to know you can sleep at night._

 

**15 February 2003**

He'd lain awake thinking until long after the sun began to rise. Revisiting all the hurt and anger that had driven him into his dark little hole for weeks after they returned. Reminding himself why he shouldn't feel bad for what he'd done with Seth the night before; Patrick had started it, and even when Joe had come so close to giving him what he wanted, it had been Patrick's choice to burn down that bridge. Because even before they'd got back from the tour, even between trying to beg Joe to listen to his excuses, Patrick had been hedging his bets and trying to call her. Joe had no reason to feel bad for doing what he wanted, now, not even if Patrick was having second thoughts, even if he'd waited up all night and gotten him some shitty card to write the excuses down in.

Just like he had in Cleveland, he fell asleep without feeling himself drifting off, but this time when he woke it was daylight outside, Saturday morning, and there was a tiny triangle of red poking under his door. He looked at it for a long time before recognising what it was. When he realised, he turned over and went back to sleep, not sure how to deal with it. But when he woke again, the envelope was gone.

He laid where he was, for a while, trying to decide if what he was feeling was a hangover or guilt or just lack of sleep. He didn't think it was a hangover because he'd hardly drunk anything - just a few weak beers - and he'd definitely eaten. Even for all his angry rationalisation, he felt a little bad for being out all night when Patrick had clearly waited up for him, but refused to feel ashamed. He was still kind of on a high from the fact that someone had been willing to hook up with him for the hell of it. But then, he hadn't seen Andy, yet, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to look him in the eye when he did. Somehow, Andy almost seemed to have mom powers - he knew when Joe was hiding something, and he could probably guess what it was. He'd be exasperated about the Seth Thing, but he'd be apoplectic about the Beer Thing.

_Shit._

The whole apartment was quiet when he stepped out into the hall. He waited for a moment, listening, but nobody was home. In theory, both the others should be at work, but he seemed like maybe Pete had been out all night anyway. His door was still ajar, just as it had been a few hours ago. In the living room, Joe's coat was laid, half folded, on the arm of the couch. He'd thought, perhaps, that the card would be there, but it wasn't. It wasn't anywhere, as far as he could see. It disappointed him a little. It had piqued his curiosity, now, and he was curious about what Patrick had to say, even if maybe he didn't want to hear it. Perhaps in part so he could counter it by telling Patrick he wasn't the only one who could have meaningless sex with people he didn't know, now.

When he'd tried to intercept him at the door, yesterday, the exact opposite of what he expected was for Patrick to want to give him a Valentine's card. He didn't want the damn card, either. He was still too hurt by what had happened. He could barely bring himself to look him in the face, yet. When he did, he had to deal with memories of days in the van after it happened; sitting with his headphones on at all times to block them out and pretend it wasn't real; Patrick punching Pete in the shoulder over and over - hard enough to leave an apple-sized bruise - because he wouldn't turn off the radio when Everlong came on. Not that Joe blamed him. Patrick told Pete everything, he almost certainly knew what that song was to them. He was either being an asshole for the hell of it, or trying to send some kind of message that he had no business doing.

But right now, he didn't want to think about it. It wasn't his problem. 

What was his problem, though, was his car. He was going to have to go get it at some point. It was parked right outside Seth's house, and that meant he either had to knock and deal with whatever happened the day after a hook up, or he had to get in the car and get the fuck out of there and look like a jerk to everyone from the toy store when word got out that he'd flaked. He wasn't sure what bothered him more.

In the shower, he thought about the night before - this morning, actually - how Seth had looked at him, smiling as he unpeeled clothes with the light from the street glinting in brown eyes, and how the marks on his collarbone had gotten there. They'd been purple and pink in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. He had another one somewhere between his hip and his navel. It had been the best kind of terrifying, and he was buzzing a little from wanting to tell someone that this thing had happened - that someone had hit on him at a party and he'd actually gone through with it. And that, as much as he felt bad for thinking it, like it dismissed all the time he'd been with Patrick, it was the hottest thing that had ever happened to him. 

When he got back to his room, the little light on his phone was blinking.

**Ella work**  
_Hope last night cheered u up! Ells x_

He sat down on his bed, drying his hair with a towel while he decided how to respond. He didn't really know what Ella knew and he wasn't sure if Seth would have said anything or would want people to know what happened. He was so used to his sexlife being a heavily protected secret, he didn't really know how other people dealt with things. Even the few friends they had who knew that he and Patrick were together all that time wouldn't have wanted to know details. He'd never had anyone he could talk things through with when it came to sexual stuff. Andy would probably have listened, but Joe may as well have tried to discuss how to most effectively skin a goat. They both would have been embarrassed to discuss how Joe liked the idea of things that Patrick wouldn't entertain, and what if Patrick was right?

Last night, Seth's friends seemed completely indifferent to the fact he was making out with another dude on the couch, so maybe all of this was different for him, but in Joe's mind there was a long way between kissing and everything else that happened.

Ultimately, Ella was responsible for it all - from befriending him at work to setting him up with Seth before he even arrived at the party - the least he should do was confirm he had a good time and be grateful.

He settled for texting back, _Thx for inviting me. glad I came._

His phone chimed again a moment later.

**Ella work**  
_I bet. lol. x Do u want his #?_

Joe took a deep breath and dropped the phone on the bunched up comforter, flopping down on to the bed. He wanted to say 'yes' and that freaked him out a little. He wasn't about to start something with this dude and he didn't want to give the impression that he was, but at the same time, he was Ella's friend and he didn't want to be the dick who slept with someone and then ignored them. But also, the whole sex thing had been awesome and Seth had suggested they be friends who maybe did that occasionally and maybe that would be alright. He felt like he could use some new friends, anyway.

_Need to get my car. Ill see if hes around then._

He waited until it was dark out before mustering the courage to go. Partly because he was procrastinating and partly so that he wouldn't necessarily be seen if he lost his nerve and decided not to speak to Seth before he left.

When he opened the front door to the apartment to leave, though, Patrick was a few stairs from the top, his knitted cap dusted with a few flecks of snow and his cheeks red from the cold. He looked up in surprise at the sound of the latch and Joe's stomach dropped. He'd psyched himself up for seeing Seth, he hadn't psyched himself up for seeing Patrick. Usually he'd be home later than this on a Saturday if he was working.

"Oh - hey, um…" Patrick started, pulling off a glove and waving awkwardly. "Are you running to the store?"

"No…" He saw the look that passed over Patrick's face as he reached the top step, and almost flinched. "Why?"

He shrugged and focused on taking off his many layers. "You didn't come home last night… I kind of thought we'd talk when you got back."

"I did come home."

"I was still awake after 4am. You weren't here then."

"I was at a party. It went on late."

Patrick stopped and fiddled with the pin button on the denim jacket bundled in his hands, turned away with his chin dipped. "Oh? Whose?"

Joe had a slightly sick feeling that he'd been caught, like someone might have told him, but nobody knew - nobody who could tell Patrick, anyway. "A friend of the guys from the toy store."

"Did you, um, did you have fun?"

"I guess. If I didn't I probably would have left earlier or something."

There was a little snort and Patrick nodded to himself. "Right."

"Yeah. So. I gotta go…" he turned to leave again, hoping to duck out before Patrick could ask any more questions, because he was a bad liar and he didn't want to feel like he had to try. He wasn't answerable to Patrick, but he could still feel the weight in his stomach that had been there when he realised he'd waited up for Joe to get home, with his Valentine's card, while Joe was with someone else.

"Joe -"

He stopped one step down and turned to look at him. "Yeah?"

"Listen, can we… sort of… talk about something, later?"

His heart was pounding in his chest, now, the blood rushing in his ears a little. "Uh…" How could he say no? They had to be friends, even if being around Patrick was excruciating. "Sure, I guess."

The small, hopeful smile that Patrick gave him made Joe feel a little guilty. He reminded himself that none of this would have happened if Patrick had been willing and loyal enough to wait for Joe to figure himself out. Patrick’s happiness wasn't his responsibility, now.

He still thought about it the whole way, though, walking through the dark, wintery streets back to the scene of the crime. His headphones serenaded _The Queen Is Dead_ , Morrissey's lamenting lyrics feeling like a personalised soundtrack to his internal conflict. He'd been listening to it the last time he used his discman and it started somewhere in the middle, _Big Mouth Strikes_ again feeling grimly pertinent.

He'd listened to _There Is A Light That Never Goes Out_ for hours, when they first broke up - and beforehand, while he psyched himself up for the horrible task he'd set for himself. It reminded him of Patrick's face as he looked up from where he'd bundled himself in the corner of his bed, red-eyed and convinced that Joe had met someone else, even though he hadn't. How fucked up was it that now they were here and Joe had hooked up with a stranger mostly because Patrick had done it first? It still made him mad - frustrated mad - to think about what had happened, how shocked Patrick had seemed that he'd been hurt by it. More than hurt. It had pretty much destroyed him. And then, to add insult to injury, he'd turned to Pete, who'd pushed them into this position to begin with. He didn't really know why he was going to give Patrick the time of day, other than necessity as bandmates.

By the time he got to his car, he'd talked himself into a sad, bitter slump. He thought maybe he'd just get in his car and go see his mom or something. Get a hug and a free meal, hang out with his dad, maybe. Not think about dudes for a couple of hours. Except, when he got there, walking across the front of his car to the driver's side, he realised that the thin layer of snow and frost on the window had something written on it - or it had, it was illegible, now. His heart sank. _Fuck, not again_. It may have been more than a year ago, but the memories of the scratched up paint on the hood of his car hadn't completely left him.

He stood there for a minute, staring at it, a little afraid and frozen to the spot. Someone from the party must have seen them and done it. Maybe he should check his tyres or something, maybe - 

But then, as another car drove up the street towards him, the light from the headlamps shone through the windshield and the writing beneath the thin dusting, drawn with a finger into the snow that had fallen overnight, suddenly became much clearer. He couldn't read it completely, still, but he could see enough for the weight to lift off his chest in an instant.

"Oh - fucking for _real_ , dude?" he blurted to himself, caught up in a laugh at the relief and the Hi-Fidelity-ness of it. 

He glanced up at the house, half wanting to see Seth just so he could tell him that writing his number in the snow on someone's windshield was the kind of lame shit Pete pulled to impress girls. It kind of worked, actually, because he was blushing and kind of flattered and fuck, he was going to have to go knock on the door and tell him his bright idea didn't work because he hadn't taken the fact it was gonna snow again into account. He was a little giddy at the thought.

Or maybe it was just the relief that it wasn't someone writing 'DIE FAG' on it.

The front door opened before he even made the second step, and Seth leaned against the frame, smirking and pulling his t-shirt sleeves over his hands against the cold.

"So, I guess that was not as effective as I figured, huh?"

Joe shrugged, stopping across the porch and stuffing his hands in his parka pockets. "Well, I guess I'm like, _here_ , or something…"

"D'you wanna come in, or - ?"

"I was gonna go visit my folks, but… I mean, I can hang out a little if you're not busy, dude."

Seth grinned and gave a one-shouldered shrug as he straightened up and held the door open, "Everyone's out, so I was watching True Lies and eating leftover pizza, so… Party hard, right?"

Joe was already undoing his coat before he even stepped inside. He paused to unhook the zipper at the bottom while Seth closed the door behind him and then he took it from his hands and hung it over the end of the stair rail, leaning past him like he had at the table, the night before. There was a sudden rush of sense memory that made him duck his head awkwardly, remembering lips on his skin and fingertips slipping under the waistband of his jeans.

_Fuck._

Twelve hours ago, he was stumbling out of this house, shivering in his hoodie as he ran down to his car for his coat, skidding a little on the icy path - full of excitement and confusion and awe. And now he was back here and Seth was in his personal space, and it was a totally innocent action, but it still sent a thrill up his spine.

"So, do you want a drink?" Seth asked, patting his hip as he turned towards the kitchen, leaving him standing there, flustered. "I think that like, two of the bottles you brought weren't even opened."

"Oh. Uh. Sure. Yeah."

He followed him to the kitchen door, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "I'll take some Sprite, if that's still there…"

Seth opened the fridge and nodded. "So, I guess you made it home okay."

"Yeah, it was like… it was pretty tranquil. Usually, if I'm out at night it's with a bunch of dudes from the scene, basically."

"Cool. I kind of wondered if you got home okay, so… I sort of had Ella check on you."

Joe couldn't help grinning as Seth handed him his glass. There was a little colour in his cheeks, and Joe thought maybe Seth wasn't as chilled or confident has he'd seemed, the night before. Maybe he was just a normal guy, styling the whole thing out. "Well… thanks, dude. She texted, but she didn't say she was asking for you."

"Well, no - that'd be a little bunny-on-the-stove, right? She was still here this morning, with Craig. I told her you left early and maybe she should check you got home okay, because she had your number. I didn't say, 'Go ask him for me' or anything…"

"I am 100% not dead, if that makes you feel better."

Seth grinned. "Actually, it does."

They were sitting side by side on the couch, close but not really touching, making their way through a collection of assorted pizza slices, when Seth first asked about Patrick. He said it casually, in the middle of a conversation about his roommates - explaining that they were in college together, the same place Pete used to go, where he was studying to become a middle school teacher.

"What's your ex studying? Or did I ask that last night? I feel like I did, but… beer."

Joe blinked a moment and shook his head, pulling a piece of pepper from his slice and wondering if his memory of anything else was fuzzy. "He's not. He should be doing music in Boston, but we decided we were gonna skip a year to see if the band would take off, I guess. That's like…" He cleared his throat, remembering. "His mom gave him this ultimatum, that he could go to college or move out when he graduated high school. So that's how we wound up, like, living together, pretty much…"

"Your parents let you just do that?"

"My parents literally helped us move, dude."

"Wow. That's cool of them." 

"My mom always let me do whatever made me happy, pretty much." _Shame it didn't actually work._

Seth nodded slowly, rearranging the topping on the slice in his hand. "You don't seem as bummed out today as you did last night, though, so… I mean, are you cool talking about it, or...?"

"Well, like… there's not a house full of people here, right now," Joe shrugged. Seth was so easy to talk to, so distant from any of the stuff at home, maybe he'd be a good outlet. Maybe Joe could talk to him and he wouldn't cringe or laugh at him, or talk about it with the others behind his back. "We were planning to get our own place, at first, but Pete talked his way into it. He's like… Patrick trusts him, so he kind of does what Pete tells him. He's like, five years older, so…"

" _Five years_? So, he's like, twenty-three and his best buddy is eighteen? Or, wait - is Patrick older, too, and...?"

"Yeah, the first one, basically. Patrick's nineteen in April, but Pete's birthday's like, six weeks after. When I introduced them, Patrick was like, literally just seventeen, though."

Seth pulled a face. "Right."

Joe felt a sudden need to defend Pete, like he couldn't let Seth think badly of him. "I mean, Pete's been one of my best friends since I was fourteen, too… I went on tour with him and his old band right before me and Patrick started dating."

"And you really think he dumped you for this guy?"

Reluctantly, Joe shook his head, knowing he was going to have to be honest. If he and Seth were going to be friends, he didn't want to be caught in a lie. "Actually… I kind of broke up with him."

Seth frowned a little and leaned over to pick up another slice of pizza. "Why?"

"I kind of wasn't dealing with things so well, with school and stuff. I sort of like... figured we'd be better off as friends to stop him hating me - it's not like it's what I wanted, even, I just didn't feel like I had so many options, basically. And then we went on tour and he decided to hook up with some girl while I was around, so…"

Seth didn't say anything, but Joe could feel him watching as he swallowed and tried to push down the hurt and anger to where he'd been storing it, under his ribs. He felt a sympathetic hand rubbing at his shoulder and leaned into it a little, gratefully.

"I know it's lame."

"It's not."

Joe forced a grateful smile and took a sip of Sprite, because it was kind of Seth to try to make him feel better about it, but he had a pretty clear idea of how pathetic he must seem. Like he was all torn up because his stupid little high school sweetheart thing had turned out the way Patrick's mom always knew it would. Although, he doubted she'd have predicted Patrick’s bullshit.

"So, before I came to Chicago, back home, I was dating a girl for a couple of years - my sister's a grade below me, she made a new friend when she started high school; a couple of years in, we started dating. I kind of thought we'd go the distance, our families knew each other and all, but I moved a couple of states over and within six months, she just decided it wasn't working out. I mean, I'd thought things were good, so it bummed me out a lot, made me second guess myself a little, but I had new friends, I met new people, had a kind of switch-flicky 'Oh, wait - _dudes_!' moment, and I moved on with life, you know? It didn't feel like it was possible, right away, but it happened quicker than I thought."

"Sorry. That's pretty shitty."

"It's all good, though. I'm happy things worked out like this. Seriously. Give it a little time is all I'm saying."

"It's just… we had, like, this whole future kind of lined up and - I don't know if it's dumb or anything - but now I can't even, like, breathe the same air as him without kind of wanting to drink bleach. He keeps - I mean… He waited up last night. For me. While I was like..."

"With me."

"Yeah."

Seth seemed to take a moment to consider this, before asking, "And what happened?"

"He was asleep when I got there, so I just kind of like, left him there. But the fucked up part is that he got me a Valentine's card. I'm just, like, 'Dude, what the fuck? A month ago you seemed pretty over it!' basically, and I guess I'm still kind of mad about it… I mean, don't knock me back when I try to work things out - 'cause I did, I literally tried - and then pull this crap and not expect me to be pissed about it, right?"

" _Right_."

"You don't think I'm being weird?"

"No." Seth told him firmly. "I mean, I feel like it's probably complicated and stuff, but it's pretty clear that you love this guy… Actually, that was clear last night, I definitely remember thinking that…"

Joe barely smothered a cringe at the thought of their conversation the night before, right there on the stairs he could see from his seat on the couch. "I'm sorry - you don't really need to like, listen to me bitch about this stuff again, dude, I should probably -" He started to get up. _Leave before you fuck up whatever this is, too._

But Seth caught his hand and tugged him back onto the couch lightly. "Hey, no - it's fine. I'd be pretty torn up, too, I think. And also mad. It's fine to be mad about it, it sounds like he's been a selfish little jerk. Either he's dumb as a box of rocks or he was trying to get back at you, which is a dick move if he knew why you broke things off in the first place..."

Slowly, Joe nodded, letting the relief of Seth understanding him - validating everything he'd been feeling, making it seem a little more normal - sink into his muscles and relax his shoulders a little. "Thanks, man."

"No problem," Seth said, quietly, sliding his fingers gently to give the hair at the nape of Joe's neck a light, comforting scratch. He let go and settled back into the seat with his drink just before the urge to squirm set in, Joe feeling his face warming as he gazed at his own fluttering stomach. "Just do me a favour, okay?"

Joe looked over at him, uncertainly. 

"Don't go drinking household cleansers when you're pissed off, because it's much more fun to hang out with this other guy who has beer."

They were watching Gremlins 2 when Seth's phone rang on the arm of the couch. They weren't snuggling, but as the evening went on, they'd somehow shuffled shoulder to shoulder and slumped down on the cushions, empty pizza boxes on the table, laughing at the special effects that they were pretty sure were better way when they were little kids. Joe was genuinely enjoying himself - not in the way he had the night before, not in the same carried away, escapist sense. It felt like a weight had been kind of lifted off his shoulders. For the first time in weeks it kind of felt like he wasn't insane, that the shit that had happened to him recently wasn't normal and he was totally not lame for being upset about it. It was freeing.

So when the call turned out to be Craig asking Seth to join them at some bar in Uptown where he wouldn't be asked for ID as long as they ordered food, and Seth asked if he wanted to go out or stay at the house and watch the rest of the film, he shrugged and said, "Sure, why not?"

\---

He didn't make it to his parents' house, that evening and it was well after midnight when he got home - sober and full of cheap, salty bar snacks, but sore from laughing; he liked Seth's company, even when it was much more 'friends' than 'benefits'. It felt refreshingly grown up to be hanging out in a bar with his friends - the only time he'd been in bars before he'd been providing the entertainment in sticky-floored back rooms and basements, because none of their other friends did shit like this.

There had been a moment, when he gave Seth a ride back to his house, that he asked Joe if he wanted to come back in and for a moment he almost did. It was just that it felt like staying over at someone's house two nights running might imply something he didn't intend, and he didn't want to make some stupid mistake and screw up another good thing. 

Seth had grinned at him knowingly and nodded, understanding, then offered him the ironic secret handshake they'd made up with Craig at the bar, and waved goodbye from the porch before Joe finally drove off.

When he walked into the apartment, Patrick's door was closed and Joe remembered abruptly that he'd said they could talk when he got home. Shit. Patrick had probably assumed that meant a couple of hours later, not nearly eight. But that wasn't Joe's fault, right? They'd never agreed that he'd be back at a specific time. Why should he fit his life around Patrick's requests, anymore? Patrick hadn't cared when Joe had asked him for something much more important than this. Even Seth could see how shitty that was.

He took a heavy breath and made himself head into the kitchen to get a glass of water, still tense with the sense that he was somehow in the wrong. 

"Did you just get home?" 

He whirled around to find Pete standing outside his room, gazing at him. "Uh. Pretty much."

Pete frowned a little and turned back to his room. "He's back. You wanna…?"

Joe's heart skipped and he frowned down at his shoes. _Oh, so you're in there again anyway. Neat._

In the hall, Pete was holding a hushed, impatient conversation with a half-open door. Finally, he pulled the door closed with a huff and turned back to Joe for a moment.

"There's a meeting with the Noodle guys next week, we're signing the deal. So if you could like, try being cool with each other and not fucking up the band in advance, that'd be awesome."

"Right, because all of this is totally fucking my fault..." Joe muttered back. 

Pete took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled it impatiently, striding towards the kitchen door to lean in. "Dude, just stop trying to punish him, kind of, you look like an asshole."

"How do I look like the asshole?! It wasn't me who - "

"It was you who called it quits, though, right? I get that you're having some kind of post-high school crisis or something, but you ended your whole thing, not him, yeah? Quit acting like you didn't fuck this up just as much as he did and try being an adult about it. You weren't cheated on, Joe, you were broken up. It sucked, sure, but you made sure that whole tour sucked for everybody, and now you're going out of your way to make sure he feels shitty for doing something you gave him the right to do. So yeah, you're the asshole here."

He disappeared into the bathroom before Joe could really say anything, too stunned to find any way to defend himself. Instead, he retreated to his own bedroom with his glass and sank down on the covers, waiting for the murmur of voices next door to stop and for Patrick to go back to his own room, so he could fall asleep. When he lay back in the quiet, he could make out the sad, frustrated tone of Patrick's voice murmuring through the wall, Pete's responding, the little monologues seeming to grow and grow in length until he was the only one speaking. 

He drifted off before the sound of Patrick padding back across the hall ever came.

\---

He made himself get up, the next morning - woken by a text from Seth, the chirrups of his phone spreading a grin across his face before his eyes were even open ( _Had fun. Come see me whenever. x_ ) but his heart sank again when he remembered the fight with Pete when he'd gotten in. Wearily, he dragged himself into the living room with the crocheted blanket his grandma made, to sit on the couch and watch TV in his own damn home. He'd been more at ease at Seth's than he had in his own place for weeks, and it felt ridiculous. He wasn't going to just be afraid to use the place in case he bumped into one of them, anymore.

In his head, he reminded himself of what Seth had said - that he wasn't out of line for being mad about what happened - but that didn't mean Pete's words hadn't bored their way in, left him wavering again.

He was starting on a slice of toast when Patrick's door opened and he appeared close to the doorway in the hall. He didn't really look in, or say anything at first, he almost seemed to be deciding whether to speak to Joe at all, and Joe almost hoped he wouldn't. His shoulders had already tensed and he remembered why, bleakly, he didn't do this anymore.

"Morning," he said shortly. _I can fucking see you, stop lurking._

Hesitantly, Patrick's shadowy figure edged to the door, squinting in the sunlight through the window, watching his own hands tug at his sweater sleeves, pulling them over his knuckles self-consciously.

"Hi."

Joe watched him for a moment, then dropped the toast back onto the plate and placed it on the coffee table. Suddenly, it felt dry in his mouth.

The silence was becoming tense when Patrick finally swallowed and said, "You were out kind of late again."

"Uh. Yeah, I guess."

"Another party?" he asked, his voice a little tight.

"No… I just went to get my car."

Patrick looked at him oddly, his brow furrowed and his lashes flicking for a moment, and he opened his mouth abruptly before closing it and pausing. "It seems kind of like you're avoiding me…"

 _No shit_. Joe just shrugged and said nothing.

"I wanted… I mean, I kind of thought we could talk, y'know? Properly."

He did his best to seem unfazed. "I didn't know you'd have, like, anything to say… I mean, you didn't since I got back from my parents'. You just spend all your time with Pete."

"Actually, I did, I just…" Patrick's hand scraped into his own hair, his fingertips pushing free of the wool, and clutched the fine locks for a moment.

Joe could see him floundering, watched the way he worried his lip and played with the fraying sleeves of his sweater. He'd been felt pretty good for a moment when he woke up, for the first time in what felt like months - optimistic that maybe he'd freed himself from all of this; all the drama and tension and worrying about what Patrick was thinking.

"Patrick…"

"No, dude, just listen, okay? Me and Pete… we kind of… we talked a lot about this whole thing, and he sort of made me see things a little clearer, so… I know I messed up - in, like, more ways than anybody can imagine - but we need to be… you might never forgive me for this whole thing, but you need to find a way to not keep hating me, because it's pretty obvious there's nothing that I can do, right now. I don't have… I just can't be the only one trying forever. Not if we're going to make the band work, y'know?" 

Folding his arms around himself, Joe curled up a little tighter into the corner of the couch. _Did you really need him to figure that out for you?_

"I'm not asking you to forgive me," he continued, the increasingly familiar sound of desperation seeping into his voice, "but can we - can we just be okay - like we promised? 'Cause we did, right? We promised that, and it was the whole point - you wanted us to be friends. Yeah?"

He closed his eyes and rubbed at his face tiredly. "That was before."

"I know - I know, and there's stuff that…" He stopped and sighed, his shoulders slumping for a moment before he seemed to gather himself and continue. "I get that it changes things, y'know? I understand if it takes time to like, be in a good place, but can't we make a start? We never watched that movie, did we? Maybe we could -"

"You wouldn't rather watch it with Pete?" Joe asked, sullenly.

"This isn't _about_ Pete - it's about this." He waved his hand back and forth, as if it was necessary to indicate that he meant the sourness between them. "Me and Pete don't need fixing."

_That's a matter of fucking opinion._

"But we did this for the band and the band is about to do something really big - we need to be kind of okay with each other, right now, y'know? I mean, if you think I'm not punishing myself already…"

_'Dude, just stop trying to punish him, kind of, you look like an asshole.'_

Watching him, clean shaven again but pale and tired, there was a part of Joe that wanted to push the bangs out of his eyes and kiss his forehead and tell him it was okay, that they'd work things out. But he could still picture her, still envisage them together and it trapped the air in his chest. He had a responsibility, though, to the band he'd started - to Andy and to his parents who'd trusted him and footed the bill for this whole mistake - so he tugged at his lip with his fingertips and nodded fleetingly.

"I don't… I'm not, like, ready to be best buddies or to kind of like…" he trailed off. _Trust you. I can't trust you._

"No, and I get that -"

"I don't wanna talk about what you did - like, _at all_."

"No - that's - I won't. I won't say anything - I mean, if you're not ready, I understand that, it's just that it was -"

" _Nothing_ , Patrick! I don't wanna deal with it, okay? I don't wanna think about it and I don't wanna talk about it."

"Sure - okay. It's just - "

Joe sighed and started to climb off the couch to walk away. "What part of ' _nothing_ ', dude? Fuck's sake..."

"Sorry - sorry. Don't get mad, I'm sorry. We can deal with all the other stuff when it's not so… when it doesn't feel so much like it just happened… Okay?"

Huffing, Joe picked up his plate to take it to the kitchen. "Fine." He squeezed past, out into the hall, the plastic of his phone digging into the palm of his hand where he was holding it so tight.

"Joe?"

He turned back and looked in Patrick's general direction, only barely meeting his eyes. He was flushed, half-smiling uncertainly.

"Thanks, y'know?"

Joe nodded and left him there, emptying his plate into the trash and then staring at his phone for a long moment. He didn't feel right, he felt like he'd agreed to something he wasn't ready for again, for everyone's benefit but his own.

"Hey, Joe?" Patrick asked from the hall. "If you wanted… I mean, Sunday's my day off, so…"

He didn't turn to look, he just shook his head, not even sure if Patrick could see him, and turned over his phone to open his texts and start on a reply.

"No… uh… no, I can't," he said. "I have plans."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Title from Taking Back Sunday's 'What's It Feel Like To Be A Ghost?'_   
>  _Quote from Press to MECO's 'Love & Reason'_


End file.
